9 Lines, Me Time

Wake up, blink and then the day gone, “damn you really made it”, gotta hit ‘em with the face palm,

Late night shift cleaning tables that I wait on, take it to the crib but I ain’t taking off the apron,

Pick a track, cook it up, run it back: Saquon,

Bars clean, pay come through, do I have some? Hardly,

Imma [die lit] like I’m [Playboi Carti], boo thing thick but her waist on a Barbie,

Imma buy cribs by the lakeshore, only when I struggle fitting money in the safe door,

Wait for it; I am destined for the upper echelon (Claymore!) I am not the one you should be stepping on,

Any written folder then Saskatchewan, competition peloton ima [Leprechaun], made my own [luck] at my own pace,

When they listen they grimace like the sun in their face, closed case.