Open Mic: The Welts

(Verse 1)

So I walk, walking down my street again
Was feeling down spark the J, and put the CD in
Momma yelling at me “turn it down!” disobedient
I know she deals with stress, sparking paper that the weed is in.
I’m dealing with social pressure bleeding in
Chasing women just to solely dump my semen in
So gassed up from the world how I’m perceiving it
So guess who’s sitting here writing lyrics to the beat again
Yeah. I bet you guessed it, it’s me.
At age fourteen I started rapping to be
Cooler than what I seem, lowest of self esteems
Admittedly I did it for ass on top of my jeans (uhh)
But I love the craft baby I was born to rap.
You youngin’s got skills but the rhythms what you fellas lack
Y’all couldn’t catch a buzz if a drug dealer sold you crack
I got a storm brewing check the news they gone tell you that.
I’m tryna keep it real in the swell of the fake shit
Everyday a complication I’m facing... rents due work hard
Working 9-5 it’s the same shit hard to focus on the vision I’m chasing
It’s the same old shit, house, car, clothes down to the fragrance
keep my head up, I’ve been patiently waiting.
For a break, getting millions from a dream in the basement.
I can’t wait till I finally chase it...

(Interlude)
Yeah... but there’s work to do we’re hoping that it pays off
My hitters shoot for the fences when they yell “PLAY BALL!”
Party chicks and eight balls smoking weed and sip all
The juice from the fountain to keep you young keep the grey off
I tried to change myself...
We tried to change ourself...

(Verse 2)

I tried to change myself dressed in latest fashion
Buy expensive clothes and hide my fears behind some fabrics
Looking up to idols hear a song, that’s how I’m rapping
Therefore every song just isn’t me I’m simply
acting
I had to change myself and run from it
Watch the haters see my wagon and jump on it
And turn a dollar into a ten then 500
And son I’m sick a tired of all this fake stuntin’
I’ll keep it real, as a child I was beat with the belt
But good thing my pants covered the welts
And some nights I’d go hungry not a thing on the shelf
With my hands on my stomach thinking I’m by myself.
All good! It took some years to see the hand I was dealt
Drinking beer and smoking spirits did some things to my health
But now I’m here through perseverance but I needed some help
And let them pussies keep on talking cause they feeding our wealth
Good or bad publicity the fucks the difference is
Cause mentally every bar I drop is sounding like a fucking hit to me
So baby get the hint and see words don’t hurt me physically
and if you love my music share that shit no need to speak with me
Huh... oh boy this shits exhausting
I know I can rap, beat any dude from Boston,
New York to Compton, bold move I’m honest
And even if I can’t I’m a hard dude regardless B!

nice. good for audio