Why?

I've been disgraced

and laced with hate

to the point where I can barely show my face.

riddled with riddles.

I've built myself up little from little.

Alotta rappers only in it for the fame

Alottta Rapper only in it for the lady game

Materialistic Munitions.

I put out my stuff for people to listen.

Alotta people ask me why I spit the rhymes I stack

Especially when after 100 songs you never get something back.

Its unrewarding

Im stuck with this 100 dollar mic but its still distorting

I find myself asking why am I still recording

Giving up I was never that type.

But life leaves me wondering why I still write.

It just adds another struggle a empty funnel.

This crap is a hole... But there's no light at the end of the tunnel.

Alot of thoughts travel my head

Especially with all this craps that's been fed

Never was the cynical

This issue is clinical.

Its sadistic

Its a statistic

Why do I risk it

Knowing that life ain't gonna sit down and give you a biscuit

Call me depressed... But im just telling the truth.

I've spent sleepless nights in the recording booth.

Just to be lyrical

So many times I've failed its hysterical

I know this crap is hard its a given

My love for this craft is living.