STILL HERE

HOOK:

Critics love it, spit it, huff it, still it's rough, I'll kill fears,

and blast through the game, 'till I'm old but I'm still here,

I give y'all my sympathy, I'm still crying them real tears,

no animosity, I'll make this real and ill, I'm still here (X2)

 

VERSE 1:

The funeral for hip-hop, I'm aiming down the sniper scope,

when I blast, rifles will be striking volts like lightning bolts,

my music is righteous hope when newcomers like to gloat,

I'm a psycho with that razor-sharp blessed decisive flow,

this music's dying with it's head strung up in a tightened rope,

from hustler rappers bragging about selling the whitest coke,

it's nice to know ya, aim and spark it at the white and the black,

if these motherfuckers stop us, then we're fighting 'em back,

y'all critics really think I just bought that new rifle to tap?

that's shock value, homie, I want fans all hyped up to clap,

from poor to middle class and back again, I'm psycho to rap,

'cuz I remember poppin' off them chains from bicycle racks,

but I had a conscience, listened to it, never stole the bicycles,

but those crews I ran with were tough and cold as icicles,

if you hate my music, then I'll hold the court and prosecute ya,

murder from the first degree, and then I'll cock and shoot ya,

that shit is purely art, it's surely taught, I need to block the future,

or this music will be dead, no doubt, I need to lock the Ruger,

you're like the Kama Sutra, after this you're fucking history,

I'll leave you like y'all did hip-hop, all broke and stuck in misery,

y'all say you're holding pistols here, now I see crystal clear,

y'all turn back on your neighborhoods, still you miss the tears,

people only sell out 'cuz they make for corporations off it,

people in those ghettoes are still victims of the racist cop shit,

just to make their profit, they forgot it, y'all just take it hostage,

way obnoxious, holding that like cockpits with plated Glock clips,

I'm taking shots, y'all faking knots, conscious? I'm paid to talk it,

explode this like spaceship rockets, all of my patience? Lost it,

they hate the South and talk about it, it's like they forgot KRIT,

dealers lace the rock on vacant plots, forsaken blocks, it,

seems they'll race and knock it, I guess what I'm trying to say,

y'all turn them #crazy #prophets, Jim Jones, y'all dying today

 

HOOK:

Critics love it, spit it, huff it, still it's rough, I'll kill fears,

and blast through the game, 'till I'm old but I'm still here,

I give y'all my sympathy, I'm still crying them real tears,

no animosity, I'll make this real and ill, I'm still here (X2)