[Verse 1]

I resurrected from the fires of hell with a staff and halo

Brain's plato not to be played though

In plain clothes shining with a saint's glow

Smoking out the frame, watch my name creep to fame slow

Ah.. the smart hop is infiltrating

A song about a craft, a crowd's anticipating

A sign of anarchy overthrows this situation

Tell those who be dissing Basics, never turn your back on greatness

A descendant of that Queens Honor

You know that Nas, Tribe, Fif, Cool, Mobb Line up

Used to pull all nighters so the doughs higher

This the new truth for the old liars

I've never been one to compare my dreams to fantasies

They thankfully actually served as guides to my strategy

And now I'm actively a true passive geek who has to be in boom bap rap tragedy

I've paid dues but that debt is nowhere near done

I understand this talents worth a billion

I treat my foes like them hoes who be sick son

I dont fuck with them, that is enough

I come from hard blocks, right off the 7 train

Out in Queens where most dream to erase the pain

But we can't so we stumble on dismissing fame

Run when it begins to rain, wonder if we'll end the games

[Break]

Straight out the fucking dungeons of rap, let them know Queens is Back.... Scholar

[Verse 2]

I've had enough of the right way, waited heavy on these fucking light weights

Get your bars up, but first get out my face

Speak to me like you'd speak in a lion's cage

Racing with a giants pace your facing rage with patient traits

Don't let casual dressing fool ya

This Whitman and Mahatma mixed with Poe and Luther

So I show maneuvers of ignored intruders

Whose soul purpose is to expose abusers

Break it down simpler, my minds out the matrix

No longer connected, I'm no longer impatient

I do what I do and the muse helps me does it, or do it, whatever as long as its the ruckus

I'm better now than I ever been before

I've explored the inner now that peace in me brings war

This pure, it's boom bap matured

Recipe's everlasting kamerata 3rd phloor

But these rappers will front like I ain't killin shit

Like I ain't what they try to be, like I ain't a lyricist

The catalyst, graduate dropping adequate manuscripts

Advocate alchemist practicing passionate battle scripts

Get off me, money talks but that shit be costly

Im a nomad with a pad and my pen is the trophy

A poet with a past that be laughing real low key

As much as you could have heard these fuckers don't know me

The type to sit, blow trees, and do it real slowly

See how they hate my whole steeze like my shit be corny

Then I log into my networks and all I see is some cloned me's

Even how they pose b that shit is just so me