Woorden: Brother El. Through The Cracks Of Concrete. Broken Dreams.

I'm tired of (motherfuckers) plain and simple, bitin my (shit)
They don't feel that, nope

One quarter of a century old
Bold, mentally, physically, massive
Visually, altenate, passive
Hope my crafts are tight, heh
I'll be aight, solo, all fresh dolo
And day and night, I write (I write)
And when the wind blows I fight, I show and prove
Aerodynamics, molded from ceramics (yeah)
Theory, let loose now gigantic
And move way past stress, don't regress
I got way too much finesse, heh..
.. son take hold of your bootstraps, when your shoes ran over
Talkin bout how you clap, I don't respect that
Nor shall I wet that
The streets is tough, time is rough
I don't forget that (I don't)
See yeah, cause when I fell out of the scene
.. heh, nobody cared
I wasn't prepared, and no one shared
any information, still patient
Waitin for a time to hear my rhyme
.. all I had was broken dreams, anger, stagnation
Pacin the streets, chasin, scraps to eat
The more you gave, the more I ate
The more disease, the more disease, the more disease
Manifested - please please - in my belly
Floatin like jelly, you can't tell me
no stories of rough seasons
I've been through a lot, huh, and I'm still SCREAMIN..
.. I'm not dreamin.. hah, countdown

Ten.. nine.. eight
Like this, well (fuck) it

Broken dreams, anger, stagnation
I'm pacin, but I'm still patient
Aww man (fuck) that let's get it together
In my time!