[Verse 1: Copywrite]

RJD2, drop that shit, so I can drop my thoughts

Driftin' away, and depress all within listening range

Nah, but for real, I got so much shit on my mind

From fake motherfuckers, to my future, I'm trying to get in line

And doing Hip-Hop in this life and time ain't all nice and fine

At times, I feel like my whole life's a rhyme

Full of punchlines and jokes, fuck-ups and punch-ins

It's like I just can't get shit right the first time or somethin'

When no one knows your name, your vinyl still in stores

Once you get a little light, they're arguing over who feels it more

We got sixteen year-old net-heads buying garbage

Wanting to keep you for their personal private artist

We don't do shit for the clubs

As far as 45's go – RJ’s the archaeologist, diggin' 'em up

And I'm the Satan sent, to vinyl with consent to bash

In this for life, until my final mic check is cashed

[Break: Instrumental]

[Verse 2: Copywrite]

(Yo...)

I can't fully become my mother's guiding light

'Til my dad returns to tell me what the other side is like

I keep the things you taught, trapped in mind

I know you cared, even though you weren't here half the time

But who am I to blame? I'd probably do the same in your shoes

I never held that against you, complained, or assumed

You never went through what I'm living

Hell, who am I kidding?

Depression is practically part of family tradition

So I keep the time we shared close

It sucks to lose

It also sucks we had to share the month of June

I would've shared eternal time before I left

Each month I celebrate my birth, I'm reminded of your death