[1] Funny I pour my heart and soul into bars.

I used to go to bars to get full and pull ‘em apart.

Many falls—and scars—led to many starts.

It all was simple. Gunfire sounded like starter pistols.

On your marks, get set. Know your lane and your pace, so

You can finish strong or be ready for when they say, “Go."

The city where I got practice

Kind of tried to teach us success had restricted access

To me and mine,

While we was drafting some decent rhymes,

Crafting sequences, accenting features of frequent crime.

Teachers passing us, actually, leaving us more behind.

Seeking the same from girls in my classes. Think, in my mind,

If I find I can finally freak and even repeat it,

Bring it up in discussions ‘cause nothing like this is secret,

Then

I might be the kind of man I imagine.

And even if I’m not, I can say I am when I’m rapping.

[Hook]

I used to scribble in my notebooks,

Wishing I could go through living

How them folks do when I used to write.

And all the visions I would go through

Wishing I could hold to, living,

I suppose those scribbles are my life.

[If it’s a luxury, still it ain’t enough to me,

But what I write is what I be.]

[2] Funny it sound like I’m judging when I write sentences,

And that’s about the most I can show you I got conviction with.

I mean, I sit and get

Frustrated often

By the rush, laying coffins

In the dust, saying, “Pardon my

Interruption,

But I’m off making what I can

From the nothing I inherited and carry with me

So, of course, I want a lotta shit buried with me

And I hurry, quickly, to places that's preparatory to me

Meeting my

Maker, or my momma’s worst nightmare.

It ain’t coincidence I’m into living right there,

At the intersection where the winter’s less and less the

Coldest feeling that’s possessed by me. And my profession seems to

See and be the freshest. So the cooler means success.

Even if it’s to the death

I might be the kind of man I imagine.

And even if I’m not, I can say I am when I’m rapping.”

[Hook]

I used to scribble in my notebooks,

Wishing I could go through living

How them folks do when I used to write.

And all the visions I would go through

Wishing I could hold to, living,

I suppose those scribbles are my life.

[If it’s a luxury, still it ain’t enough to me,

But what I write is what I be.]

[3] It’s vivid like Richard Wright when I write for riches.

Write like Eric—Easy when I’m writing scriptures.

Right and wrong—no different when I’m writing songs.

Preach when I speak

Almost like I’m writing psalms.

Coolie High—I tell you, ****, truly I

Can go from cool mu’fucka to unruly guy.

Write until

Ain’t nothing left to write.

Write to death

To keep you moving right to left.

[Hook]

I used to scribble in my notebooks,

Wishing I could go through living

How them folks do when I used to write.

And all the visions I would go through

Wishing I could hold to, living,

I suppose those scribbles are my life.

[If it’s a luxury, still it ain’t enough to me,

But what I write is what I be.]