Spitting that fire
my name should be ghostrider
too much talent

to even be a ghost writer
the man that would make you retire
now bring it back

to the younger days
sitting outside wondering
if things will ever go my way

writing on my notebook
about things that i always noticed
I was better then the rappers out now

even though my lyrics was the cleanest
i was better then the rest
and i didn't even know it

the last time i heard good lyrics
was when everyone was rocking a afro
now all i hear is Yolo

all i see is people wearing Polo's
those are the people who remain solo
where's the originality?

a generation haunted by pregnancy
hated for having these abilities
like mutants on X-men

i'm a work in progess
don't you see the caution sign
written on my forehead

does anyone notice the bloodshed
we fighting against our own
a civil war that nobody sees

not that many would agree
blinded by what they hear and see
on the tv screen

competition
just to find a basic job
Frighten

just to say what's on your mind
what was the point of freespeech
when all we do

is talk about our presidents
and not talk about our situations and problems
what would our ancestors say?

it's like they faught for nothing
should we even be breathing
Fathers that leave their children

Mothers left to raise them
Daughters searching for a father figure
Sons in jail blamming it on the father

look at the world we're living in
full of Black and white
no type of color

struggling just to get some paper
since money ain't made from trees
forched to make a living on the corner

no place to go at night
the only way to survive
is to put up a fight