Whose dope prose flows coast to coast and sparks a match?
Showin' known old pros that boast the most the art of rap
If the czar is back to start from scratch and scar the craft
Go stow foes, clones 'n' posers close and don't toast the host or bark at cats
Who froze the hope of mopes who starved for scraps?
Molten tones slow roast rodents whole
Broken bones'll char to ash
Those prone to roam the zone he own get heart attacks sharp and fast
No part'll last
No pardoned brats
Garbage cans for bargain trash

Satisfied?
'Cause anyone can play guitar
And I'm tired of the way we are
I used to say that, "if I find mics I shine bright
Then when the time's right I'll step into the limelight to crime fight"
I can still rhyme like lickety-split
Spit wickedly quick like shiftin' the stick into sixth
Is Nick atypically sick with this gift?
Rippin' swift gritty riffs so hippity-hip
But hey, any fool can rap faster and badder than me
Or grab a masters degree in smashin' the beat fashionably
Who's a true rapper indeed?
Do you have to be crashin' the scene, rancid and mean?
Batterin' and hammerin' MC's no matter or manner the means?
It's a passionate plea
It happened to be I let my day dream pass
It may seem sad but mainstream rap had made me mad
The game seemed whack when fake 'n' lame teens spat
Had to break free fast
Can't change these facts
Lost the rook in a comic book ray-beam trap
Paused and took an honest look at my whole motivation
I'd grown so impatient of hatin' those who sold their soul to Satan
Let the record show sex 'n' hoes, Tec's 'n' clothes, cheques 'n' blow
Get the most clicks 'n' views
But I wanna get it known Hip Hop's among the most beautiful music one could ever listen to
So if chicks and dudes give mixed reviews of a whole genre
No drama
It's fair play
The airwaves share space with thugs that load glock clips and scrubs that quote stock tips
And me?
Oh sweet, another freak indie rap backpacker set
Too weak to snap a whack rapper's neck and too cheap to at last cash a fatter cheque
I'm a vocalist coated with hopelessness
Holdin' this the mic tight with broken fists
Sole motive to coexist

Aiyyo, I'm the type actively battling hype's vanity
Rattling lifes path for me
Baffling strife's apathy
Standing despite gravity
Brandishing might radically
That's the thing, write frantically
Ask my wife, she'll happily bat for me
My sanity is latched to these rabid rap fantasies
And that's a travesty
So does a song like this make me a big deal?
Or am I the slop that gets tossed in a pig's meal?
Talk to me, is this humble or haughty?
If I stumble off beat, tumble with lost sheep or crumble don't drop me
Is it chorus time?
I'll form a line of boring rhymes to warm the mind
Now, I probably shouldn't have said my name in the third person
That's for certain the worst version of tryin' to sound dope through proud boasts
So is this a poorly rehearsed sermon or a clown's joke?
I won't brownnose the townsfolk or drown hope
Although I now know tryin' to MC with true humility is doomed futility
So why do it?

This music
This music is a verbal therapy chair
Apparently I can't bear to breathe without it there
Too often I'm sober and sociable but talkin' as if overemotional
I want to jot something quotable
Though that's not how closure's supposed to go
Tryin' to be a man, save a nest egg and evade the best laid's that change team's scoreboards
Bravely he board shore of a brain beat 'n' war-torn
Seen my inner screenplays splinter each day
Now became sleek and straightforward
And they say teenage dreams fade
When I reflected on deep pain and the bleak way my perspective was bleedin'
I found life sounds right but rarely goes how I expected it
It's electric and seems to leave scenes heated
It even exceedin' my best wish
Thus at day break take spray paint and ink pens
But the scariest feeling is pondering what they'll think then
I'm not sure if I can carry this ceiling
Whether I faced a crowd's claps or a soundtrack of loud laughs
I'd fall into the mouse trap with the sceptics of motives simply rejectin' the notions
Here I was, expectin' to grown into it
I got eager to rock the 'phone 'till my mind caught fever and I bought shot speakers
I've quit the hypocrite skit of Bob Seger
So I'll be the mocked preacher
Off to trot with distraught lost leaders, spot stealers and the Apostle Peter
Not a dollar to my name
Not a scholar in the game
No taller than my shame
The fault is in my aim
So I know I'm crazy to followthrough
But baby, all I wanna do is put the "art" in artist
The heart in the heartless
The dart in the target and the spark in the darkness

So don't throw your hands in the air
But if you smile back, there's a chance that I'll care