One take in this bitch, legendary shit, yo

Cam the most unknown yet, cold as the ocean floor

You ain't know, check the program, fam

I'm open source, ever-evolving

Every song's a tour de force

From the last cut cloth of rappers who hope for war

Born '91, mom's only shining son

Blessed with a mighty tongue, iron lungs and vocal cords

I'm not for the half steppin' rapper to spar wit'

And not for nothin', run him on the track 'til they nauseous

Applaud for the Gretna poet laureate author

Beat architect, direct, live in concert

Barbarian heir to the Rock of Gibraltar

My city on my back with impossible posture

Why I scoff when I see you bottle poppin' and flossin'

Cause every day another child fall for that nonsense

And they ain't grown enough to see the box they could fall in

And most of their school teachers think it's not their problem

Parents and guardians, I feel like they lost them

Perpetually intoxicated media pawns

That's real pimpin', I'm try'na break 'em free from the bonds

So I give a fuck if a blogger call me geeky or conscious

Sometimes I see the world through rose tinted Laurents

And other days all gray 'til it fade in the darkness

But this ain't a therapy session, I pray to God for that

And every day, thank God for rap

And thanks Pop for that, first Boss Drum Box way back

I got suspended, thought he'd slaughter my ass but instead

He sat me down and said, "Son, find your calling and smash"

Anybody who try stallin' your path

Cause I ain't try'na see you fall through the cracks

And that's exactly why I always put my heart on the track

And why I'm quick to scar a cat who spit trash

And regard it as fact, it's my property, dawg

Step in the garden, get smacked

It take a village to raise a seed, where my gardeners at?

BeU, Stefan, Universal and AB, Dee-1

And anybody from the 504 try'na be a child's hero

'Fore they go, this is Ground Zero

My cats who make real music wit' love, knowledge and hope

'Til the people woke, and reach for something higher

I appreciate and respect you, now enough of this lecture

Besides I know I'm just preachin' to the choir

Back to these dishonorable rhymers

Whose sole desire is to gain some, take some

Say somethin' bout it it's hate, son

"You mad you ain't makin' no cake, huh?"

And most quote 'real MCs' scared to say much

PC interviews like, "Well, dude is caked up

And I respect his hustle, son he do got a great buzz"

Knowin' damn well that same rapper stand against

Every fundamental attribute and thought in your brain, bruh

Now, pardon if I seem out of touch with the game, bruh

But, what part is that when your principals change up, or

You scared to rock the boat for fear of kickin' some waves up

And when does the man in the mirror begin to look stranger?

Now, I'm not sayin' there's not room in hip-hop

For backpackers, sensitive cats, fake mobsters

Pseudo-psychedelic explorers and club hoppers

Battlers, written and freestyle, thugs and real shottas

Dancehall cats and kids of celebrities

Afrocentric, third eye open incense

Smokin' cats, cooking potions and shit for remedies

And a billion other types of cats I'm too tired for mentioning

That'd be like me sayin' there's no room in the desert

For snakes, scorpions, wolves and vultures nestin'

Rabbits, coyotes and black widows and horses

Now, if I painted you an accurate portait

Let's review the facts and unfold some connections

First, picture that desert landscape, sun settin'

Night falls and all life crawls out of the crevice

Searchin' for food, adventure, sex, refreshment

Now, it's obvious but let me pose a question

Coyote see the Snake and try and poke and test him, like

"I think I'll take them eggs in your hole for breakfast"

You think he stopped and thought

"Well, I suppose I'll let him"

Since the, whole perception of the rest of the desert

Is this coyote's hot shit, so he's destined to shine

In this climate he's more respected and protected than I'm

Yeah, he's takin' what's mine but you gotta respect his grind

Anyway, I kind of went left with that

But you know what I'm gettin' at

Sittin' back like this rap shit is all friendly

Yeah, it's different lanes, target markets and such

But eventually paths cross and you bark or you bust

Right? Isn't it supposed to be about different opinions?

Or are we slowly moldin' into similar images?

Cam, hashtag boom bap, hashtag backpack

Hashtag white boy, hashtag rappity-rap-rap

Hashtag underground, hashtag matter of fact

Hashtag '90s baby, fuckin' hashtag, hashtag

Filtered through your Pandora station and passed back

To your mainframe wired for alternative rap tracks

And all other styles sound strange and mad wack

One time, seen a cat, had to stop for the kid

On the interstate walkin', told him hop in the whip

No real destination so we talked for a bit

Turned the music on, he asked to hear some popular shit

Man, get some Lil Jon or Crime Mob in this bitch

Now, bear in mind this like, early 2013

But I'm thinkin' fuck it, why not

Turned it on and then switched the station over

Crime Mob, Lil Scrappy, Three 6, Young Buck

Guess it was startin' to remind him of shit

Talkin' 'bout, man, if I could just rewind it a bit

Turn time and re-flip a couple lines in the script

Tears well in his eyes fillin' quick

I'm lost for words, my man on the road so long

It was all a blur but wasn't no goin' back

The bridges had all been burned, we often learn too late

What we thought secure was destined to change

Soon as my second ink pen pressed to the page

I fall back, got to reflect on some things

Love