Soapbox - CYNE

Fuck a penny for my thoughts, here’s a dollar

If you can hear me holla why they pop collar

Champagne and combosie, I press play on the RCA to bring a legend back for the

artists

Stay tuned with the stars man, design bars man

I rock with a passion of fight cause life’s hard

As long as my sky spinnin', and I reside in it

I define livin' with though slides trippin'

Killing innocence.

Fuck a Glock, Benz, and medicine

Especially when held by keen MC’s that grimace and

Fuck y’all thinking «the world’s mine»

Your dumb, deaf, or blind.

Smarten up, see the signs

Buildings fall, for race war we brawl

Like a new civil war fuck Bush and Gore

I got one shot to make it to the top

Like a runaway slave ya’ll better call the cops

I must be tragic towards the pop culture fabric

Surreal to the listener this shit must be magic

It’s the art of war stores trying to sell me on the bullshit

I’m laced up buckle and belts, pens, and toolkits

Building up my city on rock and roll and soul

Coming back on the physical wax so fuck gold

Not a soldier of fortune, but believer in the defense

Protector of the rights, I fight the current events

Soul so bright I cause a total eclipse

Fuck a new order I began my own sequence

Individual might with individual sight with hot lyrical mics high intensity

nights.

(try and walk with me)

Back on the stage in a fiery blaze

Letting loose the inner sanctum while I conjure the grave

Resurrecting on cassette cause my heart in stone

Chip on my shoulder, I’m colder

'Cause I’m always alone

And, man, it’s hard to breath without fucking up trees

I zone without the microphone, I’m scribing at ease

Enoch blessed the instro, I let the pen stroke

Paper now exposing the fake, look at minstrels

Reminisce on way back in the day

With black face on the screen and crackers, they mock slaves

Fuck a song and dance.

What you get is a glance

A sharp bird’s eye view through black experience

When a sling meet a brake.

A slug meets your fate

White broads on a nigga dick, groupie need the taste

Goddamn, my nigga.

It’s like I’ve been here before

Like polaroid shot picture that I’m headed for store

The agonizing truth—just lock me up in that booth

‘Cause I’m keep on spittin' this shit.

It’s for the youth

Young niggas coming up, y’all acknowledge the rain

Umbrella on ya head, get ahead in this game

My niggas