Check, they're like, who's he?
I'm the son of Gordie Yenning, yeah I made some corny rhythms, guess my label caught
me slipping.
Now I'm an independent, free man, caught a vision, write my manifesto down on this paper
like Corbin did it.
I see the frauds are winning, I try to give them authenticity when forming lyrics.
It doesn't get me many views, so now I'm sort of slipping, and questioning if it's wisdom
to try and force the listen, still I'm kind of saucy with it.
Well, maybe not, straight legs make a knot, I don't want to take your spot, keep that
little fame you got.
And I don't know what I started, but I'm afraid to stop, like I'm being chased by cops in
the range that my neighbor robbed, and my brain's getting hazy, like maybe I'm going
crazy, doc.
Just give me something to take away all this pain I got.
Well, it's worth a try, I guess, with a dialect representative of my address, I was signed,
yeah, felt like I was confined, yeah, sent a tune, they replied, like, hmm, try again.
Now I'm living life again, yeah, I feel alive again, the same guy ranting rhymes about Nikes
when I struggled, just buying them, hustling right again, yeah, you see the hunger in my
eyes again, yeah, eat the beat like it's dinner time, full plate on my table, just know I'm
finished, man, I got a really grand, no longer chained to a label, but now I'm back at square
one as if I didn't sign, I see the finish line, but let me start again, no more half
my heart attempts, they don't want me borrowing when my mindset's right, my oh my, I got ranting,
ranting, ranting about this life of mine, it's many moons, yeah, many moons, it's real.
