lyrics
And I hear em sayin "fuck this Drew, we want that gangsta shit",
I tell em "shut the fuck up and stop complainin bitch",
My only goal when I get on the mic's to tell em how I feel,
Where I come from we call that shit real,
I always tell the truth, even when I lie,
And I'ma think the world is mine until I die,
Al Pachino taught me that when I was 5 and I won;t ever forget it,
So anyone who call me out, gon forever regret it,
My rhymin too sick, you think I might need a medic,
They say my rhymin the shit,
And they aint talkin the septic,
I tell em just how it is, aint nothin here hypothetic,
I spit it raw as could be, come in with no anesthetic,
And tell em "fuck you, and fuck ya whole crew too
Do you, in a year we could play who's who"
Ballin on the court, number 22 ,
Cause I be this close to greatness its no wonder why you hate this mutha fucka like what.
(Chorus)
And yea I said I gotta tendency
To creep up like a centipede,
On the backs on my enemies,
And end they identities,
And I know I face a long journey, even without seven seas,
It's just me my mic and this marijuana dependency,
Im about to kill it, John F. Kennedy,
25 to life, I take the penalty,
I just keep it real, guaranteed aint no pretend in me,
So cold you got chills, like the weather down at ten degrees,
All these rappers changin, but there aint no amendin me,
I dont wanna talk about it, wit until the end and see,
Sippin on some Hennesey,
Searching for serenity,
Not too many people can be happy if they aint got the amenities,
Guess that means Im one of few,
Can I be the greatest? Gotta leave it up to you,
It's ya boy Dru C, blowin up like Nam vets,
Fuck it, it's ya boy Complex and I'm on next
(Chorus)
credits
from
The Prelude,
track released May 9, 2015
Prod. by Canis Major
license