[Verse 1]
Another dreary morning. Locked away these lyrics pouring.
Nothing out there is appealing to him so he's here recording.
Dear sweet lord he, lost his mind he's clearly morbid.
People cast him out cuz he thinks God is dead, and weird is normal.
It's that life of loner kids, just that type persona is.
Not affixed to fit within this system, I ain't controlling it.
Deep breaths. He'd rather fight than hold it in.
Targeted because they think he's weak, my condolences.
Laughing at em, they keep calling him an outcast.
Little do they know he's been about that. (ah yeah).
Your heart'll take a feeble mind to hell and shut it down fast.
His heart'll rise from ashes, fight them back and make this sound last.
He don't want the fame or money just the rapping tenure.
He just wants to make it out alive from rap in ten years.
Surrounded now by mobs of actors repping flashy vendors.
Who got the fans but lacking talent, that's what happens when you're.
Trapped in a system ass backwards as met sys
Somebody break these chains that are rendering us defenseless.
That chain around your neck ain't pure at all its leaving imprints.
If I don't break the chain I'll break the mold and hop the fences.

[Spoken Word Break]
They see him as different so they treat him as different.
But when commands get barked out wonder why he doesn't listen.
No belief in this system that squeezes it's victims.
Dry of any last drop of creative image.
We made it this way. Or he believes that we allow it.
Relating hype to glory and materials to prowess.
This generation is impatient hardly waiting like an ounce is.
So either vomit out that garbage or keep remaining soundless.
They found it easier to be a money hungry petty bore.
Recycled bars about turning up and overkilled metaphors.
We have a million choices yet this the shit we settle for?
He's packing way more than punches in his lines, you can bet it's war.
There's no rest for the wicked so quite often he's anxious.
Feeling stuck in this shell, this locked box that you gave him.
His only shot at freedom is somewhere off in these pages.
Just the lost soul, the outcast, this monster you made him.

[Verse 2]
Now he's got his family concerned.
Lacking sanity in verses they keep askin if he's hurt.
And it's hard to put an answer into words.
Cuz he knows that it depends on if his attitude inverts.
Up at one minute. Down the next.
Empty one bottle. Down the next.
Death by one chain. Round his neck.
Death by 2Chainz. Probably next.
This clouded head only finds a purpose when I write these verses.
My psyche's nervous for the future day when I'll be earnest.
These fucked up thoughts of mine just help to keep my fire burning.
But I keep learning they'll turn me to ash if I don't purge them.
It's hard to understand my passion is my vice.
One things for certain, I quit rapping, I quit life.
It's a battle every night, my stamina I sacrifice.
And even though it's killing me if I don't handle it I'll die.
If I don't handle it I'll die.
Self destructing fool, never grab my own advice.
But am I drowning? Or am I on the rise?
This is just another wave, take my hand and we'll survive.