I taste like A1, cause I'm the pick of the litter

I got a chip on my shoulder I'm a lyrical spitter

I'm flowing flavor out my mouth like a packet of skittles

They tried to lock me up, I keep on stacking acquittals

So don't belittle me, or get the kettle pot steaming

Too many late nights plotting and scheming to have some checked out mother fucker tell me I'm dreaming

I'll keep my foot on the gas till I hear the crowds screaming

Dear lord,

Dear lord, please help me fight these demons

Keep my mind on the money stay away from the heathens

I can't complain though, I feel blessed for so many reasons

So I stay on my grind through the changing of seasons

These demons getting louder I can't hear no more

My feet damn feel asleep dangling to the floor

I'mma fight it out cause I'll win the war

But till you run the game know that someone else is keeping score