[Verse 1: Real Prophecy]
Ayo my time is finally here, climbing these stairs, grinding each year
Yo success wasn't designed to be fair
Melodically know how to ride a beat, so Imma speak clear
Prophecy God emcee, honestly I solemnly swear
To sonically demolish these squares
You ain't worth sh**; not even the diamonds that shine in each ear
Cuz talent in the game is obviously rare but yo my rhymes too major to go against these minor league players
All you need is a bottle to drank and a pile of Ben Franks to go off the dome thinking you could freestyle but you can't
It's not what you think, quit saying that you versatile cuz you ain't
Why would you think I'm vile too hostile? then file a complaint
The black messiah prophesied to build a rap empire
Your time in fact expired, so if your wack retire
That would happen if I lacked desire but I practice entirely
No wonder these rappers admire me
Real Talk
[Verse 2: Real Prophecy]
You like the bars I light ya dome with but n***a you don't write your own sh**
It's like it don't fit, so loosen up that microphone grip
This talent was given I'm blessed the Lord will protect me
He'll direct me; built to wreck beats with sk**s and technique
Who else is this real except me? I know I'm ill but let me.. finish so I could talk about n***as who still collect g's
Knowing they wack as f** and labels they will regret these mistakes of signing filthy emcees I ain't impressed, please
Quit while you're ahead I could freestyle what you said and that's ya best written I suggest quitting
And find a job if you refuse to so-called rap
Who told y'all that you could rap already know y'all wack
Back in the days n***as made the most off rap
So take that money you made and sell coke off that
I hope y'all scat I noticed how h*mo y'all act
You might as well be a tranny flowin' with no ball-sack
Real Talk