VERSE 1
All up in the mix/ like the crucifix/
sent 2 do a job/ price u pay a bish/
was homeless on the street/
yall know what I wished/
lost in the Amazon/ treated me like wish/
where the fuck did I mismanage/
2 be the toilet of hu-manity/
loose cheeks spittin pro fanity/
Steeled me 2b a pro w fans of me/
want 2 call on ne1 but family/
too tox, ain't know how 2 handle me/
soul drowned out 'cept for a candle—seen/
(if) I could make it outta this, I could make it out of anything/
H-S-P in Santa C
home 4 my bones, was fantasy
slept'n frunna stores, under trees
(glass broke)--a-larm--it woke up me/
2 across the street, jewel robbery
another time called 'nigger' by a jun-kie (key)
middle of the night, prolly wanna fight/
saved my own life, w re-verse psych
("So I'm a nigger, huh?") came from my pipes
(white boy broke down,) started cryin
meanwhile, one two steppin like (12!)
I illegally slept on the beach overnight
I ain't break no laws, came at the break of light
tried 2 take my schit, so adrenalized
thought at this time
"was this the end of life?"
til I heard my inner eye empathize...

CHORUS
You been strugglin, but you risin (8x)

VERSE 2
All up in the sauce/ grind 2b the boss/
Goal: bohemian but gotta fight some wars/ first
been a slave to social mores/
role model fucked up my core/
when I'm a Pop, I'll optimize my spores/
so they brain don't pop by the time they're forty/
they say I'm indian, or am I Moor?/
(If only I could find genetics on Maury/)
still be starved to know more me
low bank money, but fuck a 'poor me'
chip on shoulder, (a) bitch 2 dust it off
couldn't find nunna love me from being lost/
Love me outta feelin alone/
tryna change reflects without changin source/
-- that's genesis of
irreverence (duh)
impediments
testament to severance
better focus on keter
cuz folks, I reject that hive mind membership
speak my mind when I'm pennin
spent too much time lip servicing, kininng & friending
co-dependin
this boy ending
the world wit trauma in they aura
this empath won't take they orders
(no fake vibes even as hors d'oeuvres)
On my Bill Bixby, na'an rollin wit me
On my own trip
sw'y they think I'm tripping over
what's hard, though emotions limping
I can hear, Can you hear, if we're closely listening
a gang of light beings whispering...

CHORUS