Work Craftstyle

Young urban novelist, herb slap a apologist

Leavin rappers dead in my wake and they won’t acknowledge it

I’m headed to the top of my own and they want their bottoms kissed

This Trump shit enough, I ain’t doin industry politics

See, rappers flex but when the mic is in all of their hands

They stumblin like Sean Spicer at oral exams

When you really hot ain't nothin more important than fans

So I only do it for the ones supportin the plans, settin new precedents

Fuck that orange-ish man, he tryna privatize the world til you can’t afford where you stand

There’s too much at stake, I gotta be more than a brand

See, I’m more of a man

And even when I travel the foreign-est lands rappin and tourin expand

I’m screamin Hell’s Kitchen and keepin it New York as I can

See if I could paint a portrait of man I’d hang it in the subway right below Port Authority, fam

That’s word to everything, my words are everything

I do it my way, even if I’m off like Freddie sing or it’s the highway

Never gave a fuck about a fast lane

Godfather of rappin, check my first and last name

It’s young Brando, you one channel

My tongue vandalizes beats and catalyzes heat without not one handout

So don’t approach me I’m on the block wit a 40 screamin free Charles Oakley, beggin anyone to coach me, catch an elbow to the throat

See I’m boxin out man, the game is mine

If you miss your shot, when I get the rock, you gon hit the pine

And cats frontin like I ain't the one to get behind

Ironically they’ll all get left behind when I get what’s mine

No gang of stars behind me, its just me, homie

But shouts to Guru, the legend, man R.I.P. homie

All respect due, but this beat was screamin “Use me”

Hope my rhymes are supreme enough that Preme don’t sue me

They be like, “Craft, you kill it every month, when you gon quit it then?”

Maybe when Van Gundy come and coach The Knicks again

Maybe when Charles Barkley’s old uniform fit again

When it snow in Sahara, it’s a desert in Michigan

Listenin til they lay me down

I’mma lay these nouns, verbs, and adjectives on wax and spit until it make me proud

So they can go and try and make these clouds of smoke and mirrors

Like I ain't the fuckin realest they won't ever make me bow, that’s word