[Verse 1: Nick Grant]
Niggas ain't been rapping lately, guess I'm trapped in the 80s
Ain't fly enough if the fashion statements don’t make you hate me
Looking up to drug czars, same ones who sold my mother raw
Die quick as the culture if we don’t evolve
Could never hide the scars I’m from where pistols bark like a pit of dogs, nigga shit gets hard
Thirsty bitches even wanna sips the tears from dons
Rich rap skin black as Norman Lear sitcoms
Diamonds looking pissed on, picking bitches like I’m Frankie Lemon nigga which one
Pray my niggas live long, no time for silly rappers and they too lame cliques
For the record we deeper than a Wu-Tang hit
My drive took me out the ghetto found a new lane quick
At any moment they gone hit me with that "you changed" shit (uh)
More honesty than Richard Pryor comedy, I don’t know where I'ma be when Obama leave
(gotta be more, more, more)
[Hook: BJ The Chicago Kid]
Said theres gotta be more (yeah baby)
Said theres gotta be more, more than what we see
More is what we gotta be (yeah)
[Verse 2: Nick Grant]
I'm Gil Scott Heron, here to give America a dose of their own medicine
Who I ain't better than, you should watch who bet against
Expose hearts of jealous men, predator felon mama’s bestie molested them
Killers vanish cause feds tamper with evidence, long as the souls wealthy we cool cause we were never rich
Sweat me like fed pressure, was left for dead, sorry I’m misleading miss lady all I wanted was head
Sipping wine imported, my rhyme style is gorgeous, bout my money this is worst than Sally Mae extortion
Don’t know whats real its like I’m looking through the eyes of orphans,
The newest Benz turning like some disappointed corpses
Old head stories of how they was the shit in their day
The world bleeds menstral shows get tickets today
Two hundred on a car dash with a trunkful of Ye’
Life's good no more reruns of minimum wage
(Gotta Be More)
[Hook: BJ The Chicago Kid]
Said theres gotta be more (yeah baby)
Said theres gotta be more, more than what we see
More is what we gotta be (yeah)
[Verse 3: Nick Grant]
Still could pull a model with no dollar to my name
A nation in debt and here we are begging for change
All for nothing another brother slained
Death is a tough exchange, Trump even running game
All aboard the coon train clown samba painted faces you frontin’
So embarrassing tap dancin’ for whitey gets you nothing
But a penny for your thoughts, if all times are good do you know who you really are
I need the bad times adversity gets you far, this verse is a ki of raw
Babies die young remember you via the project walls
My generation needs a Redd Foxx a Lena Horne
Feel like I’m the one to put us on top where we belong (uhh)
Walking Fred Hampton agenda I’m too attentive, my shit is poison to these rap pretenders
Who swear they trap but never seen a pack this epidemic of twisting facts
Still we celebrate your backwards image, it gotta be more