LYRICS

My son is an incredible wordsmith
Story pitching perfect
A wiz with the verses, but he don't feel it's working
Said the music isn't worth it 'cause the streets make up his budget
Waiting for a royalty check, just doesn't cut it
Fuck the rhyme, life of crime is all he know, even note
That the jail will be the end game, but that's just how it go
Try to show him other options, but the pay ain't really popping
Nine to five is not his thing and he ain't the one to go and clock in
Clock in is the key to success as far as he feel
His fan base is white kids buying coke and E pills
So how the fuck do I go tell him different
When he know an inside rapper barely make a living
He don't see the bigger picture, I see it clearly
I'd tell him he could win but he ain't really tryna hear me
So what am I to do to get the message across
Before he's trapped by 12 or suffers a greater loss?

What do I do?
I'm right behind you in all you do

He gave his power to the powders if you read between the lines
Taste his sour every hour, how the hell I missed the signs?
Close friend became distant, damn mere non existent
The person that he was had disappeared in an instant
Friends got missing, his appearance faded fast
Barely recognized him in the streets when he passed
Try to talk to him but he didn't hear a word
His addiction speaks louder than me, that's absurd
Tried to intervene with everybody from the team
‘Cause it hurts to see that one of our own became a fiend
Took him to rehab, two weeks later he relapsed
And got worse, my word, it really hurt to see that
The monkey on his back grew stronger
Held a firmer grip, this time around the trip lasted longer
So what am I to do to get the message across
Before he's carried by 6 and we suffer the loss?

What do I do?
I'm right behind you in all you do

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