[Verse 1:]
It's so odd, I can't get a job, I can't get a call
Maxed out credit cards, over draft on my debit card
Damn, man, what to do?
Mom keep saying that it's up to you
She's the reason I was stuck in school
Now I feel like a fuckin' fool
What I wanna do don't need a degree
What I wanna do comes easy to me
But it's so hard to get paid for this shit
I love knowing that I'm never safe in this bitch
On my toes, I'm chasing the hits
And it makes my day when they say that I'm sick
But don't do me no favors, hater
Fuel my fire 'til I make it major
I know that my time gon' come
A&R's say I gotta find that one
Song, that'll blow me up
But I've heard that so much, I've gone numb
You can't spit a flow if I wrote you that shit
So gimme my dough like you owe me that shit
And why you keep tellin' me to lose my producers
These two dudes make the music I move to
Look, how you gon' say that we're not on fire?
How you gon' say I'm not an I'll songwriter?
They write hits, I write emotions
You don't like this, better get to rollin'
Stop tryn' to Lupe me
I'll tell you right now that it's too late b
And please don't bring up any other rapper
I'll tell you once more these dudes ain't me, AZ
[Hook:]
After everything
That I've done
They don't see
I'm still alone
I'm out here tryin' to make a livin'
Doin' something different but it doesn't even matter
A part of me
Wants to let it go
But can't you see
It's all I know
I'm out here tryin' to make a livin'
Doin' something different but it doesn't even matter
[Verse 2:]
Sometimes I don't wanna kick raps
Sometimes I wanna kick back
With my feet up, lay back and chill
In the way back of the maybach for real
Wishing, I'm dreaming for a reason
I've convinced myself that if I keep believin' 
eventually I'll be it
But who got my back? I know I do
I keep telling myself they gon' find you
Lifes a bitch, I'm Nas in 92
Street poet but I ain't a Crip or Piru
Don't think that I'm soft dog
The shit that I say from my heart dog
I'm on one, but I'm off ya'll
And they say every rappers a lost cause, so
Let me get straight to it
I just make music
It ain't got no color or genres
So, I guess you can call it Obama
Still, when I'm rappin' I happen to see
Even my family ain't happy for me
I'm mad at my friends, the ones who said that they had 
my back 'til the end
But they don't pick up my calls
Convenient homies, I don't even need you phonies
Ok then, get lost
You're bitchmade, I'm pissed off
I give, you take
'Til I ain't got shit left to take
So I think, that you fake
And I ain't got shit left to say