[Intro]

(Whoo)

Coldxman

(Ooh, ooh)

(And what have we got here?)

[Verse 1]

Schrödinger's MC

Whether I'm dead or alive, you gotta respect me

I'm tired of politics and I'm tired of press briefs

And I'm tired of college kids with the try-hard aesthetics

I learn less from college than from the Wiki binge

And learn more from molly than from religious men

Always thought outta boxes, like I finished confessin'

Prob'ly would've quit rappin' if not for Desh

He called me on the phonе and said

"Coleman, you gotta send a messagе

Or else they gon' tell the story without you

And they'll embellish"

I had to tell it

[Interlude]

(A telephone waking him up

And putting him close to sanity)

[Verse 2]

I stay up till 4 a.m. dealin' with my stress

The only way I know how, a neat sip of High West

I'm not from the South and I'm not from the projects

I'm from the place where Tony Soprano was shot dead

Dirty Jersey, baby, apologies for the spoiler

I ain't start from the bottom, but I just started from boredom

I played a artist when critics need to be drawn up and quartered

Purchase whatever's in front of me just to toss it in storage

So in the end, I suppose you could say I'm payin' it forward

Yeah

[Chorus]

Payin' it forward (Whoo—Ooh)

Payin' it forward (Ooh)

Payin' it forward (Whoo—Ooh)

Payin' it forward (Ooh)

(Whoo)

[Verse 3]

Stick to the facts, ma'am

Before I published a word, I was writin' raps, fam

It's the revenge of the kid with the rolling backpack

Silverware matte-black, eatin' steady

Always seein' too many people or not enough

And often dealin' with niggas who only want a cut, fuck 'em

The rap game got more puppets than a Muppet function

And more dumb babies than product of cousin-fuckin'

Julliard drop-out, made the city my school

Not every house is brought down, like the titties could move

But I gotta give the credit where credit is due

That's why I give it to myself and don't give it to you

Uh, you know I hate to see women in pain

But I also hate all commitments that fuck with my game

Though me and family been mixin' like oil and rain

They still tryna soil my name, critics gotta get paid

I brush it off, mama raised a loyal and diligent maid

When the story is written and all of the riddles explained

I wonder if they'll fill up a page, or just a footnote

In the meantime

[Chorus]

Gotta move forward (Whoo—Ooh)

Gotta move forward (Ooh)

Gotta move forward (Whoo—Ooh)

Gotta move forward (Ooh)