32 BARS

Is anybody out there ? It feels like I'm talkin' to myself,

no one seems to know my struggle or where I come from,

can anybody hear me? I guess I keep talkin' to myself

It feels like I'm goin' insane, am I the one who's crazy?

 

 

I'm sick of hearing rappers about the crackin' bottles,

tappin' models, leaving parties, putting the Ac in throttle,

there's no soul, I feel like all of this rap is hollow,

leavin' the strip club with stitches and half a dollar,

maybe I'll sit back and kick facts, hit Jack and swallow,

six packs, or make a sick track, wallow in sadness, sorrow,

I'll be back tomorrow, really think I'm right in the mind?

That's Lucifer, and he's beast when he's writin' his rhymes,

I'm a nice little guy, until you're biting the lines,

I'm gettin' tired of moderating and fightin' the crimes,

I'll just sit back and watch how all the glory unfolds,

and I've been releasin' anger, now the story is told,

yo it's Lu, and the rap shit is flowin' through his veins,

but he's talkin' to himself, and he's goin' too insane,

no one knew his name, now he's showin' you the fame,

but he keeps it real for the gold and through the chains,

I ain't slowin' down, I'm goin' 'round the obstacle course,

robbin' emcees blind of skill, now he's poppin' shit off,

he's creatin' them scenes, his new Clockwork of Orange,

he's got the block in his claws, got the top in his jaws,

stoppin' the force and with rappers he's moppin' the floors,

but what do people say that this shit is impossible for?

The poor Southern white boy, he's like Picasso for sure,

the corporations are cold, but then it's awesome indoors,

paintin' pictures, strictly business, it's an art in itself,

that's re-creating Pac and Biggie, Leonardo himself,

spit it Gershwin, picture perfect, this shit is purely art,

that Michelangelo flow, yo, he was havin' early thoughts,

writin' rhymes since eleven, values were surely taught,

he was dope as fuck, it was crazy how absurd he got,

he's a mixture of Mathers, Jones, and Lamont Coleman,

and he's killin' emcees 'till blood spills like Ron Goldman,

this is for the memory of emcees like Deshaun Holton,

we're ballin' in this game, the swag of Lebron's stolen,

rappers get jealous because they know Lucifer's better,

and critics hate 'em 'cuz they know that his music is clever,

teenagers love me and abuse it 'cuz they used to endeavor

critics take hip-hop and rap music and group it together,

but they don't know that such a dick move is stupid forever,

some rappers are hot, some cold, it's two different weathers,

boostin' the cheddar, please remind me who's in the ghetto,

I don't care about the nice cars and shoes with the leather,

what if you grew up as Louisiana gutter trash dude?

Then you wouldn't be doin' all of those upper class moves,

we're bustin' ass, hustle fast, we're always stayin' vexed,

but we ain't gangsters, don't confuse it, ain't sprayin' Tecs,

we're not acting violent in this game, we're not layin' threats,

when you were lower class, wonderin' who pays him next,

the ballin' rapper turns his back to ride and to blaze the cess,

emcees love to fuckin' judge me until they're laid to rest,

we don't really care about colors to hop on that trolly,

and we don't care about these new rappers poppin' a molly,

this shit's a busy world like the book by Richard Scarry,

plus the underground hates if your raps ain't a dictionary,

release the dove, y'all say I'm violent, I'm for peace and love,

I stand up for my rights and march, oh these people judge,

the streets are rough, I've been tellin' y'all since "Dangerous",

white middle class parents are sayin' rappers get paid to cuss,

when really all the rough neighborhoods had raised 'em up,

they wonder if that pays enough, if they knew, they'd adjust,

and they'll smack a policeman with a gat in each hand,

but that's a way of survival, how they map their peace plans,

see I'm here to pave the way and save the day for two reasons,

it stays the same, I'll change the game and bring a new season