New York

[Lenox]

[Verse 1]:
8th grade I started rapping, scarring rappers with nautical audio was just target practice,
I let some people go around the same time I lost my passion,
i saw writing on the walls without the art & canvas.
it was hard to manage, Memories became partly damaged, I’m sorry damn it..
But i let the days pass by...
another morning.. another damn sigh. Jon you still rapping?” *blank stare* “damn why?”. “You were the illest though!” *annoyed* “damn, aight”.
You know those days when you wake up unsatisfied. I can’t imagine why..
vertical cracks in the massive sky where god plans out the time and date I should unfairly die.
Used to pray for labels to notice me, I guess prayings a lie, peaking through the blinds with the AK beside,
looking out for the blues.. but I ain’t talking about the face you make when you cry.
It’s just tough, I wanna sit back and make music..
and find great samples I can make grooves with,
but I’m tired of these fake movements, simple minded kids stay stupid so I spend my entire day breakin loops in..


[Verse 2]:
Lyrics bounce off my screen from the street lights reflection,
Can’t tell which way is right.. & every wrong done seems like I’m guessin,
Can’t sleep tight at night cuz demons keep smiting depression on my teen life, I’m stressin.
Multiple times I had to rewrite this section, gotta take advantage of my lyrical weapons & keep striking fear into the non-superiors with imperial methods.
Except I’m living paycheck to paycheck, not knowing who to pay next.
Boss on my neck, shit job, so I stay stressed.
I stay pressed for cash, im better off breaking in glass and doing bank jobs with masks.
I feel like I’m nearing death. But ima keep fighting till my weary breath is at heavens steps.
From now on every thing is past tense, jotting lyrics on the pad wondering where the fuck rap went.
I miss the high kicks & horns like Louis Armstrong during a jazz set.
The 90’s were magic. Now everything is plastic,
Bunch of barbies outta the case, ironically that’s how rap fags dress.
Sadness.. so I’m ending this verse on a punch like Cashius when he practice.