Hey kid, listen

Hey kid, listen

I'm the illest
But looks like yall forgot
Prolly too much bullshit, pussy and pot
Let the battles egnite!
From Lucy Ford to Rappers Delight
My lyrical pose show rappers the light
There are more styles of writing
Than punchies, poems and violence
You can write whatever stuck under your eyelid
I do still have faith in this
Even though lyricists be leaving like atheists
So I'm lacing this in the state of vacancy
Basically, I'm too proud to confess my flaws
I'm sticking to collecting props, connecting dots
Wrecking spots, backed by the heart of friends
Easy come, easy go, hit four corners and start again
That's more or less, everything I need to say
To every one I adress, now go out there and change the game
Me? What? naw, I'm the kid closing curtains
Perfect? No, I'm a brew slamming guy with a purpose
Cats hate that I like to get down and drink beer
But guess what kittens?! I'm still here!
Apart from knocking bars and skribblin rhymes
I never claimed to be divine; never will, never have
So why the hell should I act like I am?
Write about sinful feeling or rekindled healing
Write about dicking sluts and drinking moets
Write about life's crossroads and every cockroach
Write about paid weed, mainstream, fuck even the A-Team
Write about devoured pills that thrills when killing
Everything. Sincerely yours, the illest.