Less Than Enough

Fast, Avant-garde, Melodic Rap, Trap Soul, Emo Rap, Layered, ambient guitar, soulful male vocals, deep beat, clear vocals, alternative hip-hop, melancholic tone, underground hip-hop, story, emotional rap

April 12, 2025 at 8:06 PMv4

(Verse 1)
Some nights I opened the fridge just to stare at the light
‘cause it was the only thing glowing in the whole damn house.
Nothing inside.
Just shelves and air.
No juice,
no care.

There were mornings I’d wake up to a cold floor,
step over arguments,
and eat cereal without milk like it was normal.

Mom worked doubles.
Eyes bruised by stress.
Dad?
Just stories
I filled in with guess.

Dinner was late,
and quiet.
TV dinners,
no diet.
Just microwaves and empty chairs.
No one asked,
no one cared.

I learned to talk to walls.
They never yelled back.
I learned to walk on eggshells
so they wouldn’t crack.

(Hook)
I grew up in a house that echoed more than it spoke.
Every silence,
every sigh,
wrapped around my throat.

Family?
Split.
Love?
Rare.
So I found comfort
in not being there.

Fridge empty.
Heart full.
I made something
from the bull.

What I lacked in food,
I found in fire.
What I missed in hugs,
I stacked in desire.

(Verse 2)
There were winters where my breath fogged up the glass
'cause the heat didn’t work
and neither did the people around me.

I went to school in hand-me-down fits,
sitting in class like I didn’t notice the difference.
But I did.
Every thread felt loud.
Every tear told a crowd.

I’d fake sleep when they fought.
Dreamed of other homes,
better plots.
Felt like the background in my own life—
like I was born behind the spotlight.

Shoes too small.
Backpack ripped.
I didn’t have much,
but I never slipped.

I wore shame like it was fashion.
Turned pain
into passion.

(Hook)
I grew up in pieces,
missing things I couldn’t name.
But I made rhythm
out of blame.

Full plate now.
But I still taste
those hungry days
that shaped my pace.

House cold.
Heart warm.
I survived the quiet,
and now I storm.

(Bridge)
I used to count cracks in the ceiling,
now I count wins.
Used to pray for love,
now I let it in.

No silver spoons,
just plastic forks and paper hope.
But I ate what life gave me
and still never choked.

(Outro)
They gave me nothing.
Not even peace.
So I made songs
that never cease.

I filled the void
with voice and beat.
Turned every lack
into something complete.

Nothing.
That's what raised me.
But look at me now
that nothing couldn’t break me.

(Verse 1) Some nights I opened the fridge just to stare at the light ‘cause it was the only thing glowing in the whole damn house. Nothing inside. Just shelves and air. No juice, no care. There were mornings I’d wake up to a cold floor, step over arguments, and eat cereal without milk like it was normal. Mom worked doubles. Eyes bruised by stress. Dad? Just stories I filled in with guess. Dinner was late, and quiet. TV dinners, no diet. Just microwaves and empty chairs. No one asked, no one cared. I learned to talk to walls. They never yelled back. I learned to walk on eggshells so they wouldn’t crack. (Hook) I grew up in a house that echoed more than it spoke. Every silence, every sigh, wrapped around my throat. Family? Split. Love? Rare. So I found comfort in not being there. Fridge empty. Heart full. I made something from the bull. What I lacked in food, I found in fire. What I missed in hugs, I stacked in desire. (Verse 2) There were winters where my breath fogged up the glass 'cause the heat didn’t work and neither did the people around me. I went to school in hand-me-down fits, sitting in class like I didn’t notice the difference. But I did. Every thread felt loud. Every tear told a crowd. I’d fake sleep when they fought. Dreamed of other homes, better plots. Felt like the background in my own life— like I was born behind the spotlight. Shoes too small. Backpack ripped. I didn’t have much, but I never slipped. I wore shame like it was fashion. Turned pain into passion. (Hook) I grew up in pieces, missing things I couldn’t name. But I made rhythm out of blame. Full plate now. But I still taste those hungry days that shaped my pace. House cold. Heart warm. I survived the quiet, and now I storm. (Bridge) I used to count cracks in the ceiling, now I count wins. Used to pray for love, now I let it in. No silver spoons, just plastic forks and paper hope. But I ate what life gave me and still never choked. (Outro) They gave me nothing. Not even peace. So I made songs that never cease. I filled the void with voice and beat. Turned every lack into something complete. Nothing. That's what raised me. But look at me now that nothing couldn’t break me.