(Verse)
I'm a bemused wordsmith, tryin' to figure out how to bring the sounds of the underground to the surface, but it's got me, remember when 2Pac talked about how a rose could grow from the concrete, well, if that's the case, then my sound clips should be able to raise from the pavement like Stephen Malkmus, and leave people enchanted, even when life feels slanted, off center and it's to the point that you can't stand it, ya can't flip, ya just gotta deal like casinos, and fight, and play the game 'till the cards are right, but at 21, I didn't feel like a winner, I felt held back and lost like a drifter, and tryin' to make good music is hard when you're confused with the world and your pride feels scarred, and your heart, is in twain like Samuel Clemens, and you feel like you just need a bandage to mend it, days spent lookin' for the answers to questions, but I apologize if my rhymes sound overly emotionalized, but things really sting like there's soap in my eyes, so I'm closin' 'em tight, and can't look in the face of the problems, without gettin' scared, feelin' impaired when tryin' to solve 'em, on and on they go, but I can't get off 'em, Barack Obama talked about the audacity of hope, but I don't know if I have the capacity to cope, or tenacity to float in this sea of despair, my mind's all messed, emotionally taxed like the I.R.S., feelin' stressed out, like A Tribe Called Quest and Faith Evans, faith gone, but I make heaven, here on Earth, without church, or a trained reverend, to bring about hip hop's rebirth like Ma$e Betha