[Verse 1: Propaganda]

At what point should a man just admit he's defeated

And swallow that pill of humbleness that he needed?

Cause I ain't draw the picture right, see myself in better light

Bigger than my body give me credit for, right?

An ode to the sketchbook, you all I got

Ain't tryna get mixed with them fools on the block

But it seem like the streets got a magnet in 'em

Heavy metal in our jeans so we sag our denim

And the city sing a song to make a veteran blush

Of kids who can't get in gear stripping they clutch

But the blank page is saying to me "this how God sees you"

Say I don't believe you but soon the world'll need you

And if you give him a chance, he can Michelangelo you

Sistine Chapel masterpiece fresco you

Nothing more honest than an artist sketchbook

A visual depiction of how God's love looks

[Hook]

I ain't the artist, I'm the canvas

[Verse 2: Tsaka One]

The only thing you ever wanted to be was a rap star

The only thing you ever wanted not to be was what you are

On these pages so tell me how far from what your spirit grew

Will concede you, I assume you got what you need dude

Silver screen bright your life, silver screen done paid you, right?

See your name comes out of these brothers scream

Your dream state is a dreamscape

Escaping all that's real - fake

Rape the soul takes its soul

These lost art emcees, they come and they get they gangsta stroll

So you gotta know

You gotta know that this page scratches the surface of your soul

Your bloodline ink surface so why abort your convictions?

The distinction that is made from the touch to page is rebirth

I have filtered life through pencils and exhaled as parts into little pieces of your image

My name is pronounced in consonants and makes drums sounds when brought out into the open

But even though you, as pen to God alone has remixed his tone

I continue to pass mosquito bite insecurities through the page

So don't bite the hand that feeds you

I need you to be allowed to breathe

When will you get off your hands and see I need to breathe to hold on?

Breathe to get through, breathe to pass off these fares of strength to master insecurities in my life as testosterone statements and lines

Write these rhymes with gills and [?] stanzas so that they breathe under pressure and can grow back lines when I failed

Exhale the shame, write pain and tear duct verse that inks this curse of blank pages

You are the sages of the world so go purify me a world order

That ain't nothing short of resurrection with the pages that alter

We all falter but as long as you bleed this pen on my face of bleached skin

You will birth the ability for all of us to breathe again

[Hook]

I ain't the artist, I'm the canvas

[Verse 3: Propaganda]

Come and get your fingers dirty, get paint on your hands

That's the fun part of art, put the color where it lands

I'm a blank page, fill me with life changes

Color depiction of what it could be or should be

But sometimes feel like lines don't match the Scripture

Bothers me cause I've seen the picture

Patient maintaining the fire up in my chest

It's line between hungry and desperate

And I got to be more stubborn than the wall that I'm pushing at

Convinced of the vision like what are y'all looking at

If you seen what I seen, then you would roll your sleeves up too

That's why I never understand how it feels to be you

I bet it's so mundane

But the sketchbook seems to me simple and plain

You can not turn around, can not not try

But stick with it, this is how we got got by

[Hook]

I ain't the artist, I'm the canvas