verse 1 (MICjordan):
I wear my poker face leaving all my cards showing
that's my state of mind when I take time to start a poem
NOT how the billboard charts are goin',
listen, pimpin' ain't easy, but it isn't as hard as ho'in!
and which are you when you listen to the radio
and switch to that which them do, like Pharoahe said it's fellatio
that ain't rap, it's cookie cutter crap for kids (play-doh!)
out to get paid dough by labels? you'll be amazed bro
how your profits manage to stay below your overhead
you can go platinum while promotions blow your bread,
so you're broke on the back end but still owe the feds
I need that kind of success like a hole in the head
so when I say I stay down, it's because I know the ledge
and when I spit the flavor's nasty like a bite of moldy bread
what a waste to chase these clowns when I could try to grow instead
if the day comes that I cease to learn, I'll know I'm dead!

(skratches)

verse 2 (Poor)
Yo, whatever happened to them hyphy niggas? (What happened to them niggas?)
Oh, they graduated. (Oh.)
While some buy into a lifestyle exaggerated
Cristal faded on champagne dreams
and all the lies and bullshit that this game brings
it's hard to breathe or rap about rap for me
'cause I don't sell bricks or chip tricks from trends I see
so we get labeled as "conscious" (oh, you're conscious?)
but I'd rather get labeled "real nigga spittin' raps that ain't nonsense"
That category holds no glory, end of game
end of story, end up broke with no fame, so
rap to me was like a way to release,
I hit the open mics and flowed it right and became a beast
we get love in the streets, from OGs to the youngstas
true, some hate, but never say shit amongst us
paid it no mind and kept it movin like they panhandlin'
we stay jammin' like Bob with banging beats from Bannon!

(skratches)