I was born where the thunder puts a crown on the damned, Where the dreams of a father left their prints on my hands. Had a pen, had a pulse, had a plan in the sand, Now I’m carving constellations where they buried the man. They thought the gift was a gimmick, a glitch in the system, Till I split every syllable, stitched up the rhythm. Now the room goes still when the consonants hit ’em, Like the truth grew teeth and the dark came to listen. I’m the ink in the wound, I’m the spark in the ruin, I’m the voice in the void that the silence fell through in. I don’t borrow a throne, I make empires from proving That the lost can be legends when the lost start pursuing. No silver spoon, just a silver-tongued curse, Put a universe of hurt in a universe of verse. If the blessing was the blood, then the burden came first— Now I turn every drop to a flood on the Earth. Don’t twist what I said, don’t confuse what I carry, I was raised by the weight of the things people bury. Got a mind like a maze and a tongue legendary, Every line is a labyrinth—enter if you’re ready. I don’t speak for applause, I speak what survives, Put the dead in my diction, put the gods in my eyes. If you came for the truth, better swallow your pride— There’s a ghost in the story, and it’s still fucking alive! … fucking alive I’m a lyrical lunatic, intricate, infinite, Sick with the syllables, pivoting, militant, Living in riddles, my rhythm is venomous, Every little letter’s a lit match flickering. Quick with the quatrains, I split through the sound, Put a fistful of fate in the bricks of the ground. When the kick hits hard, hear the whole world pound, I’m the king of the lost with no kingdom I’ve found. I was sleeping in places the daylight forgot, With a head full of heaven and a heart full of rot. Had a dream worth a million, a pocket with not— Now I turn every scar to a scene that you bought. Not a product of luck, I’m the sum of the scars, Of the nights I was broke, staring up at the stars. Now I’m writing my name where they said it was barred, Put a crack in the ceiling, let the light hit Mars. I’m the plot twist, the prophecy, paradox, prodigy, Ripping apart every lock that was stopping me. Watch how the mockery morphs into homage; They wanted a nobody—now nobody’s stopping me! So if your spirit comes near, let me make one thing clear: There’s a peculiar kind of fear when the truth reappears. It’s the chill in the spine when the past intersects With the person you became and the life you neglect. It’s the hush in the hall when the old floorboards creak, It’s the name in your dreams that you never quite speak. It’s the truth you outran coming back through your sleep, It’s the promise you buried growing roots underneath. I don’t threaten the weak, I don’t preach to the blind, I just open the book and let the pages unwind. Every villain I’ve written wears a piece of my mind, Every hero I’ve killed left a ghost in the lines. Now decipher the cipher, the scripture, the signature, Bloodline, breadline, pain into literature. I turn a broken beginning to something that’s infinite, Build me a kingdom from every damn minute I lived in it. Watch me accelerate—never evaporate, Words hit the wall and the wall starts to levitate. Breath like a blade and the bass makes the heavens shake, Every bar is a door that the dead never hesitate To open— I’m going where no one can follow, With yesterday’s grief and tomorrow’s apocalypse. The boy who was broke had a dream he could swallow, Now the dream has a mouth and it’s speaking in octaves!
