The Roof

It always came back to the roof. Feedback, recap on the truth. The past is the proof. Some say it’s hard at the top, but the top is the spot where we’d always come back to recoup in beat-up sneaks; postering out in the rain, clothes soaked chased ghosts for the fame. The process of buildin’ a name: every time we got close doors closed, but we chose to maintain. Maple Butta Mondays, live rap, spoken word IDS chicks smokin’ bird. JE and the mothership: we them other kids killin’ Saturdays for the love of it, because of it Bix sold his whip - moved to crack corner. We seen a lot of shit go down on that corner. Not swellin’ up from the kids though, block fillin’ up with the thick smoke, cops yellin’ up to my window. Hyper cats, PRD cypher scraps find out where the lifers at. Won and lost battles like binary code, we dropped science with the library closed. Taryn Della schooled the Socks on the ghetto tip, shot the breeze with Aziz (formed the fellowship,) Battle Royale took years to fight, but then again some verses take years to write But it always came back to the roof. Feedback, recap on the truth. The past is the proof. Some say it’s hard at the top, but the top is the spot where we’d always come back to recoup in beat-up sneaks; postering out in the rain, clothes soaked chased ghosts for the fame. The process of buildin’ a name: every time we got close doors closed, but we chose to maintain FYs got the city crushed, quit bangin’ them stickers and when I heard, I strangled the liquor. That cool clown kid Biz Markie Big Daddy Kane slang kicker; fly mommy frame hitter. Praise the universal balance of the most-high. I’ll never understand those reasons for who’s breathin’. Days like the ebb and flow of the coastline. Lost countries under the seas. Two seasons. Underestimated we overcame. Battled each other, twin pheonixes borne of the flame. Code of the samurai: we all promised some day, now you’re overlooking miles through the clouds and sun rays. The message: too strong. The exes moved on and never looked back down the path they swooned on. I keep your name written on my whiteboard right above my list of goals so I can write more But it always came back to the roof. Feedback, recap on the truth. The past is the proof. Some say it’s hard at the top, but the top is the spot where we’d always come back to recoup in beat-up sneaks; postering out in the rain, clothes soaked chased ghosts for the fame. The process of buildin’ a name: every time we got close doors closed, but we chose to maintain and as the days go by I understand why I had to struggle - we had to struggle to make something out of nothing