Balance Inquiry

There was a genie at the bottom of a Henny bottle. I followed that model. I swallowed and I swaddled until I could no longer follow. She granted me wishes: a family, anarchy from these bitches and, DAMN, these riches. And I had to choose the wishes that I would live with. The rules and the dishes that I was hiding from my mama when I broke in the kitchen. The dope that I'm hitting didn't have me quoting and listening. So I just want to move to the groove while you're listening, hoping this shit is dope

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You got to be amazed. The prophecy is not to be sold. Not even to be put on the stove and distributed it to the block, while niggas just listen to hot shit. What's hot isn't gossip. What's hot is what I live with. Non-stop with a pilot driving my fitted into the sky, and above it. I gotta love it. Somehow it's not a budget. A lot of love given but I am not tolerating nothing wack. I put up with all, because I don't know who fucks with it at all. So I'm stuck like a face up against the wall

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I've been discouraged, malnourished, pure as I can get. Not girl-ing, on top of the world and it's swirling. My curls have been cut. Kind of like my girlfriend when I'm not around, by herself. I've got to clown. I've cause a deep inflection, a depression. I need this to be a lesson. Either that or I need to stop receiving my stress as a blessing. Regardless, I got to live. Even if I can spit hot, hip-hop isn't as positive as what I give

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