I’m a college boy chillin’ in an opportune position
tryna earn some recognition, make some music, find my mission.
I will find my way. I will go the distance.
I’ll be there someday, and maybe if I’m lucky I’ll be money double-fistin’.

They say, “write ‘bout what you know,” but my life is so limited.
All I do is ride my bike and think of the percentage of
My time spent gettin’ high compared to hittin’ the gym and shit
And one’s bigger than the other. Hey man, which one is the gym again?
I hit this shit and hold it in and wing it left like politics
can’t talk for shit. My cough’s redic, but it’s becomin’ obvious
that I’ve built up a tolerance. Straight hittin’ bowls like off the pitch.
Just goin’ to class and writin’ raps and chillin’ on a scholarship.
Album two has dropped and it’s pretty cool. Check “talkin’ shit.”
But I’m back on my grind for album three. Man, I can’t call it quits.
Flow insane like lost my wits. I go deranged like tossin’ kids
Off of buildings, fall through ceilings, spill their brains out on the bricks.
Goddamn! I went and lost myself a bit.
My bad I’m trippin’ lost my shit, but I digress. I’m on the fritz.
I’ma take this time to consciously come out of the abyss
And honestly evaluate my mission in this bitch.

Hook

And so I step into the night lookin’ up at Orion
I need to pull myself together. Where my friends? I’m tryna find ‘em.
Think I spy ‘em but I’m stopped. Drunk bitches they askin’ why I try to skirt beside ‘em
I’m alright but y’all are lookin’ wild.
Fire style is my forte shit but I don’t even know what’s
My mission in this bitch. Man I’m workin’ on it. Hold up.
All y’all jerks that know what they want out of this life can suck my butt.
Makin’ music’s what I love. Whatever, whatever, I’ma smoke a fat blunt.
And maybe if I’m lucky then I’ll make a fat kajillion.
Give my mom a zillion, and, eh, throw Dad a billion.
Don’t delude myself. Know my chances are one in a million
But that don’t change the fact that on the mic I’m one in a trillion
So yeah I’m stuntin’. I kill for my fuckin’ area code
And maybe build up a following I can carry back home.
All y’all dogs rappin’ in the screets go ‘head and bury ya bone.
This shit is coolio slick. I do it all on my own.
It’s goodie.

Hook