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The sorrowful gaze has faded—frost has settled on the earth (six months gone by).
I still couldn't grasp just where I’d been drifting (freedom).
It’s tough because everything teeters on the brink of collapse;
Shitty decisions are no good for the crew. But all you want are the wrappers—the trends
To hell with work; give me freedom—you’re just bots
Everyone wants to eat well, yet one in three ends in ruin
But we come crashing onto the beats—on the beats, on the beats
Dad gave me brains; I chose my own name
I soar so high, yet sink so low—who gives me the strength?
So many problems? Kill them with positivity
Everything around me is so beautiful—I thank myself for that
For we ride the waves; all mistakes go to spam—just me and my clan
We’re a hurricane, stuffing all the luck in our pockets; we’re charging head-on—to hell with mere talent
I couldn't care less about that; it’s self-deception—your plan is just a trap
I’ve invented a thousand stories and woven them all together
Every public appearance is a duel
My life is built on mistakes
My story began out in the sticks
It’s all for your tears and your smiles
For as long as I can remember, there was always a choice
I remember so much—it was always wild
Where are those people now? That remains a mystery to me
Is life "Truth or Dare"?
Life is made up of ad-libs
It’s only about the here and now
No "buts" or "maybes"
I feel out of sorts when I’m not on a trip
No time to sit around when there’s a mountain of work to do
And so we come crashing onto the beats
Who else but me? Who else but you?
Even if there’s nothing left to say, I’ll say it—*we’ll* say it
Not for gold, cash, fame, or novelty
We’re just fucking these beats
Dad gave me brains; I chose my own name
I soar so high, yet sink so low—who gives me the strength?
So many problems? Kill them with positivity
Everything around me is so beautiful—I thank myself for that
For we ride the waves; all mistakes go to spam—just me and my clan
We’re a hurricane, stuffing all the luck in our pockets; we’re charging head-on—to hell with mere talent
I couldn't care less about that; it’s self-deception—your plan is just a trap
Nobody’s ever done it this damn good
All your so-called hits? They’re all stolen
Every single one They just nod and stare.
And someone definitely ripped someone else off—that’s a sure bet.
Questions? We’ll answer them.
Or we’ll make you answer for them.
Your rules? They’re just wind.
My rule? To become a legend.
Nothing less—absolutely nothing less.
My crew—they are the backbone.
My crew—they are the backbone.
I’ve been obsessed with this since childhood.
I knew we would endure.
I knew we would hold the line (hold the line).
I’ve lost all sense of limits.
Since my youth, I’ve been down at the bottom—way down.
I know exactly what I’m meant to take.
He says, "Give it to me! Give it to me!"
As if this were some kind of marketplace.
The thrill has got a hold of me, and it won’t let go.
I embraced it, and now we’re partners.
It tells me: "There’s no turning back."
Autopilot mode.
My days are all about work—work on myself.
And not just that, listen up—there’s someone else involved, too.
Autopilot mode: making money isn’t work—it’s just what we do.
Especially on a Saturday, you know?
Dad gave me the brains; I chose the name for myself.
I’ve been to the highest highs and lowest lows—what gives me the strength to go on?
So many problems? Kill them with positivity.
Everything around me is so beautiful—I have to thank myself for that.
After all, we’re riding the waves; all mistakes go straight to spam—just me and my clan.
We’re a hurricane; we pocket all the luck. We’re charging straight ahead—to hell with "talent."
I couldn't care less about that stuff. It’s self-delusion—and your plan is nothing but a trap.