They say life a bitch even when you live it right
Different strokes for different folks but not everyone hit it right
Always hung wit different types
Different nights you could find me with the rich kids or wit all the hustlers the system sniped
New York; eryone got stories but use different mics
Erybody got the same emotions
Erybody drinkin, smokin, bumpin Biggie from Bed-Stuy to Park Slope
And I mean do-or-die Stuy, not the one where you move to open your $8 coffee shop cause your pops gave you a loan, shit
But I digress, what I’m sayin’s what’s inside my chest
It’s defined by all the girls and guys I’ve met who look down on each other not knowin their eyelines met
Posh rich model bitches on the concrete runway wanna be Instagram thugs and talk that gunplay
Everybody frontin for pictures chasin the gimmick, tryna quell the loneliness of truth in figments of fiction, it’s fear
I was taught to know the value of a dollar, but not to find my value in a dollar
That’s why I don’t gotta chart, I can eat cause they know I got a heart
Out here tryna make change cause see dollars tear apart
And I ain’t sayin that when Jay was in Marcy scribblin down his first bars he wasn’t even thinkin of cars he could cop like money wasn’t always the plot but honor/respect was a form of credit
And check it, dudes’ll blow their whole score today for a check, if it’s blue and next to your name online that’s even better
But I don’t need it only the people can verify me
Fuck your follow count, I need park benches to sign me
Fuck an influencer, the whole city behind me
It’s Craft
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
