[Instrumental used from saiko]
[Verse 1]
Slipping finally from my
Psyche til’ I find me psycho for a sight of cypress
Sounds of silence signed by hills with sixty-four bikers, bind with
Buying burnt bakery goods and lying on couches, learnt
Writing words for pouches beyond boundaries of reciting quotes from
Amount of Kubrick’s truest works from foolish niggas gone to rubrics
When I loot this, coolest flows for being fluent in Cartinese
Arteries, help avoid “pardon mes”, take newest thrones
Watch it for the Jay and Ye’ like Truman Show to Carter 3
Wayne’s World, grab the mic, flying-by when I started these
My own poems those stained words used to be hard for me
To try and think of ways to burn on rhythms with written blurbs
Turn from stern face but back to Phineas and Ferb, you kidding
To I turned back to being a kid, I had learn to bridge
Connections to my letters thanks to bFM, you heard right
I’m writing on that nine-to-five til’ I hear them birds flight, these words
Tight enough to have them building booming in these worst nights of
Being cursed, tired and thinking it was that first time of
Metro to curb myself when beats to paper and tryna burst, I’m tryna
Find and learn to write a verse and tryna find the purpose to write
[Hook]
Look, cos’ when I’m tryna
Find the compass it will always need to come with purpose
Word to Tribe: “Thank you for your service”
[Verse 2]
Thankful for my
Birth wish, refurbishing wasn’t certain for the curtains of my
Eye balls cos’ I’m personally feeling sleepy, hope that I fall on the
Mattress when I’m rapping for I’m grappling the batch of static niggas
While I’m actually battling with mad menaces, was I really meant for
Being fit for bad temperament, temperature rising when for
Chasing mazes of afro-centred amazing raps, wrapping up these
Filetted sentences, i’m bent up with these lazy naps, days been
Trapped with bedrooms; Jay-Z bumping in the back with pastry puffings
In my lap, I’m staying comfy with a stack of blueprints in their
Pack, I’m packed of boom baps for backpack teen to turn backpack
Rapper, you gon’ pass that batter, it’s batter-up to all these
Bastards with no backup but a batch of weak bladders, leaking
Past their pants, atcha hoe, afro growing past the toes
Grabbing knowledge each day, spitting more shit than a cat should know
Hope they ain’t gon’ flag the video, hope they wit’ it bro
Cos we still ridin’ on shit
[Hook]
Cos when I’m tryna
Find the compass it will always need to come with purpose
Word to Tribe: “Thank you for your service”
Cos’ when I’m tryna
Find the compass it will always need to come with purpose
Word to Tribe: “Thank you for your service”
When I’m tryna
Find the compass it will always need to come with purpose
Word to Tribe: “Thank you for your service”
Cos’ when I’m tryna
Find the compass it will always need to come with purpose
Word to Tribe
[Verse 3]
I can tell you that my
Parents needed the space since 2001, dawn was an odyssey
No sun shining or clock working, past orange skies were bothering these
Full times, hard as metal; the crumpled jackets that were on to me
My eyes wide shut to strange happenings I still ain’t used to honestly
Brings me back when I was twelve on campus Danny’s Atrocity
Exhibition captures me with love for pads and apostrophes
I got to breathe, give me chance, I gots to see a
Monumental moment for the mother I hope to honour, she gon’
See well front-to-back, the massive metropolis monthly, must for breeze
Machine on-screen, the man for means came a long way from a fucked-up teen
Fun gone pre-days, I see braised ways for puffer cheese
Something for another green pay, no attention to the
Tougher dreams, rough around the scene of red and green from the traffic
Attics of the temple sway from statics we go at it with
Illmatic, ill we mad shit on a state of mind for rapping
Thanks to my people who had fought for dreams to happen
