[Verse 1]
I'm living in a world where...

...Van Gogh snapped his paintbrush in half
or Albert Einstein ain't touched his math.
The world's a stage, every verse a play,
but afterwards, I just can't crush the mask.

I'm three thousand miles from perfect.
A shattered vase that's wondering where its worth went
so 'til this curse bent, and this cloud cross,
and insecurity quits runnin' its mouth off,

I'm usin' friends as crutches. I learned it from Hov.
Think on my career: backburners and stoves.
Heart- and sense-less, cracked sternum and nose
in a mist of purple rolled to keep my burdens gone.

And everybody that's been hearin' him grow
can't look me in they eyes or they turn into stone.
It's never timely.
I guess it ain't nothin' but a bunch of pillars of salt crumblin' behind me.

Yeah...my mind turns to ash
after all of the blunts that I'm burning to pass
every single wild curve and turn in my past
I emerge from it glass. Take a look.

[Hook (x2)]
Crawl, run, walk it off, tell 'em all you okay.
Hit 'em with a punchline. Act like they ain't cold. Say,
"I've tried all I can, and this is what I'm up to."
This is just a wall. Time for me to rush through.

[Verse 2]
Burnin' Black & Milds on some Nero shit
cuz my potential been a pistol I can't reload with
any right amount of ammo to make people trip
so instead I'll let you creep in on a peephole tip.

I been feelin' like a horror movie that you can't leave.
Bruises are illusions. Scars, you can't see.
I was too young, jumped the shark, hit mad teeth.
All my goals hit sharp arcs to plan B.

So...when it all falls down
and the volume goes up and them laws called 'round
and nobody realized I was lost on "Crowned"
and I try to be as hard as a sawed-off round,

what's left is this: mess, stress, and grit.
Exhale, pen in extended wrist.
Talk's all, "Jo, what Def says is sick"
while I sleep like a rat that been left the ship.

[Hook (x2)]

[Verse 3]
This is when the last rhyme you write's all finished
and the helping hands you've given have bite marks in 'em.
The L at the end when you might start winnin'.
Drown when that spotlight RIGHT starts hittin'.

And this is not a dream! This is not a dream!
This isn't where I wanted to be at seventeen.
Where is all the love? Where is all the cream?
Where are all the songs I shoulda been doin' with Preem?

Where are all the kingmakers? Where are all the queens?
Why was I cut soon as I left the scene?
Where is all the growth? Where are all the leaves?
How come I'm twenty-one and still ain't met a better me?

Who wants to listen to poor little rich kids
except others who can feel every pause in the sentence?
This won't be earnin' no applause so I'm screamin'.
Will I finally have the balls to repeat this?

You'll never retweet it, or share it with your friends.
This is for golden kids, flares above their heads.
This isn't for my homies. This isn't for your beds.
This is the last stitch before I'm runnin' outta thread.

Ain't a better revenge than your triumphs.
Pump your pulse. It breathes wherever the mic is.
Throw up prayers that everybody likes it
cuz don't a sound exist that hurts worse than silence.