Shade

Slipped out the cradle with a razor and a tape deck, Mama said, “Be grateful,” but the halo never came yet, Graffiti on my mindset, venom in my syntax, Every line a car wreck, brains on the index, Neighbors call me “devil” ‘cause the bass shake the drywall, They pray I find God, I just find flaws in they Bible, They like, “Tone that shit down, you too raw, too spiteful,” I’m like, “If I die polite, that’s a motherfuckin’ side quest, not my title.” Whole block whisper when I walk past silent, Same mouths bite flows, then act non-violent. They don’t want art, they just want compliance, I gave ‘em blood on the canvas, they wanted appliance. I see the crowd but I still feel ghosted, Heart on the platter, they scroll like I posted, Just another corpse in the algorithm ocean, Streams go up, but my soul’s corroded. Lights on stage, but it’s darker when they cheer,

They chant every bar, but won’t hear my fear. I scream in the mic, sound crystal clear, But my thoughts in the green room disappear.

So fuck what you like, fuck what you play, I’m alone in this booth, let the world throw shade. They hate how I talk, they hate what I say, Wanna box my brain, can’t cage my pain. So fuck your blog, fuck your wave, You want safe rap, go dig your grave. Every line I drop, y’all twist like a blade, I’m alone ‘cause you fear what the fuck I became.

I could rap happy, I could fake that sunlight, Autotune the trauma, put a filter on the gunfight. Label on the line like, “Can you make it more fun, right? This depression shit is cool, but it don’t stream on a Sunday night.” I been canceled by the pastor, banned from the campus, Parents throwing tantrums ‘cause I rhyme about the ashes. Kids feel seen, but they call that damage, I’m just mapping out the pain they tried to leave in the attic. I spit about pills, they say I glorify the habit, They glorify denial, that’s a whole ‘nother racket. If I lie in the verse, then the merch move faster, But I’d rather let my skeletons moonwalk past ya. Every bar got backlash, hashtags, thinkpieces, Writers flip my pain into think tank thesis. They dissect my guts like a college lab fetus, But when I OD in a motel, they’ll sell my t-shirts. Fans scream “Don’t change!” but they ghost when I’m quiet, They only love the wounds when they get to go riot. You want the breakdown live on the mic, don’t deny it— My panic attacks got better ratings than my finest.

So fuck what you like, fuck what you play, I’m alone in this booth, let the world throw shade. They hate how I talk, they hate what I say, Wanna box my brain, can’t cage my pain. So fuck your blog, fuck your wave, You want safe rap, go dig your grave. Every line I drop, y’all twist like a blade, I’m alone ‘cause you fear what the fuck I became.