ballet of the way

I came from the gutter with a chip on my soul, No heat in the crib, just a dream and a goal. I was broke, I was pissed, I was barely alive, Now I spit like a demon with a reason to thrive. No label, no gimmick, just b***d on the track, They talk real shit, but they never lived that. Had nights where I starved, days I ain’t speak, Now I feast on the b**t and I breathe technique. They want likes? I want legacy, truth, and rage, I write pain like it’s scripture and spit like a blade. Ain’t no fakin’ my path, ain't no clean routine, Just a f**k-you world and a cracked up dream. I was raised in the dark, no faith, no love, Just a fistful of anger and a sky up above. If I fall, then I fall with my middle fingers high, Screamin’ “f**k every doubter” ‘til the day that I die. Truth hurts, I ain’t here to be sweet, I’m the voice of the lost, of the broke, of the street. So don’t come at me with that filtered tone — I’m a live g*****e with a haunted home. I’m the voice of the outcast, curse of the wise, The sinner in church who still prays in disguise. I’m the cut that don’t clot, the tear in the seams, I’m the ghost in the hood with a book full of dreams. I don’t rap for the charts, I don’t beg for praise, I just breathe on the track and set fire to the page. They want gimmicks? I give ‘em raw bricks. I spit soul, spit w*r, spit death, spit hits. This ain’t rap, it’s therapy under the stars, It’s confession with rhythm and jailhouse bars. So if I go out now, let ‘em carve one line: “He spoke the fuckin’ truth, every goddamn time.” I don’t give a f**k what they say 'bout me, I been broke, been low, now I run these streets. I spit truth so raw, it could cut your sleep, I ain't fake, ain't sweet — bitch, I’m too damn deep. Truth cuts deep, motherfucker, better bleed, You talk loud online, but in person you plead. I been down in the dark, now I shine like heat, This is soul with a blade, on a cold-a*s b**t.