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Lately feeling like I'm on trial
for being obsolete.
Trying to live properly.
Legally gain property.
Somehow, became a mockery.
This aint independence!
Western living, dreming of ways to escape this
9 to 5 insanity.
Cramming me in an Amityville style calamity.
Gradually maddening sanity
to accidentally creating sad tragedies.
Only issue is
I'm the only one it's happening to.
My rhapsodies move
to alter the moods
of listeners. I guess another problem occurs,
no body's listening.
I've been wrestling,
and questioning for many years.
Maybe I missed my shot.
Maybe it won't appear.
So many hopeless fears always approaching near.
When smoke from the roaches clear
the world's still ugly.
Turning to ashes right in front of me.
Uncovering the fact
that I'm not obsolete
right from under me.
Living in a world full of materials.
Prices on souls going for the low-low.
Here are avoiding devils on our stroll.
Labeled obsolete for appreciating those
that work real hard. Trying to share with the globe
a talent turned skill. Thousands of nights alone.
Select few get it, much less even know
what it's like being tempted having to say, no!
Sitting here thinking I'm in the middle of a nervous break down.
So many people needing, and want what I make when I create sounds.
Never hitting the play button,
especially the paid one.
Buying cups of coffee costing more than my album.
Rocking in empty clubs, different story, but relevant.
Promoter's even worse, making G's, artists selling tix (tickets).
I'm talented in many things,
but not at all politics.
I try to stay positive,
but never been popular.
Everybody loves me!
Cockier than a mother fucker.
Still nothing to show for it.
Still sweeping storage units.
Dreaming of moving, yet
no money to do it, and
my goals of touring
still haven't went away.
Rappers riding busses have Benzes,
and nothing's too expensive.
Most fools are a joke!
No wonder you don't want to give it a few
minutes to hit play, and listen.
Not Hip Hop cause I don't sample music.
Maybe I'm just sitting here making excuses.
Or, maybe I'm close to blowing one of my fuses.
All I know is I'm needed for something useful,
more important than making rich people money,
and without that shit, aint a damn thing funny.
They won't even boot me out,
cause they didn't let me in.
Now I'm a wanderer,
but I'm not Obsolete.
I might possibly
be called obsolete.
From God awful thieves
who got lots of things.
There's no turning away
from the path that I chose.
No matter what's in my way
I keep moving forward.
When I try to climb up
somebody's pulling me lower.
Trying to control emotions
so my temper don't blow up.
I'm grown man now,
don't treat me like a boy.
They want to silence my sounds,
but I was born to make noise!