Dreams and Nightmares Craftstyle

I was raised up in New York where shame don’t get two thoughts

And soon or later gotta live the same shit that you talk

Well when you start to crack just like the pavements where you walk

You don’t be somethin’ you not

Don’t let em see you sweat dude cause if you get sentimental they send shots all at your mental like “Cryin tears ain't what men do”

Lil’ homie, I’m here to tell you that that’s bullshit

Trust, cause I done seen both sides

I seen nerds turn shit up, I done seen thugs cry

Don’t believe stereotypes

Fuck Bose, Sony or Panasonic

Rappers want a seat at the table but will they stand up on it?

I done got the game in my hands but I wouldn’t dare to palm it

Shit I’d be too scared to drop it, the effects could be atomic

This just ain’t for flex, not everyone can come up here

If only half them listen, still responsible for one ear

If one year’s my run, that’s one year my tongue sprung off the roof of my mouth to influence somebody’s son so I must give this truth cause ain't no single man inferior

Be you like a terrier barin’ this cross of authenticity in lands nefarious

It’s hard, cause anyone can cop some J’s it’s only you alone that’s wearin your scars

I done seen all the inequities, I know how it work

I had that same weed in my bookbag but I never got searched

I had that same rebellion wanderin church

Cause I got kicked out Sunday school like every week for all my devilish smirks

So I end up on the right track, some of it is white/black

Some of it is class strata, trauma where the strife’s at

They said that’s not how you gon live but I knew those kids

I swore that one day with the mic that I would go and fight back

Cause most people do the best they can

Most folks are just pedestrians, havin’ the voices of privilege

But all these blogs just be fall for the gimmicks, all for a couple clicks and subscriptions

That shit be makin me sickened

So fuck it you ain't gotta give me shit bruh

Try and box me out, I’m Porzingis with the tip dunks

Hit em wit a little bit of this and that

That finger in the middle of the fist of rap

Leave meals right there on the table

Turn the dream to a nightmare make em live with that, man oh no

So look me in the eyes when you talk

It’s that young Craft cat, yeah he the guy with the heart

I’d die ‘fore I let these fucks deprive you of art

I ain't tryin hit the charts man, I’m tryin hit a spark

Man I’m gone