Reality Check

It's from Monday to Friday, and everyday's a high day I never get enough like traffic on the highway I need to get a job, and it's hard when I don't try to I tend to listen to music most people want to die to But I ain't like you, man, I'm more like me Just another underage motherfucking emcee And I can't but swishers and I can't buy beer But I can make music, which is what got me here And I can't even drive, man, I need my license Took my first hit at fourteen and felt like I've been high since Fuck the silence when I come to your speakers It's been a long time since I've felt like Cesar It's been a long time since I've had a clear mind I know I say this a lot, but all I do is rhyme And I've never stepped foot inside of a studio I used to want all the money back when nobody knew me, though And I can't make beats, mix, master, or nothing But I know how to press record and keep the beats bumping Been working since I was twelve to fit the stereotype of cleaning other people's trash just to make a life And I probably ain't as dope or as deep as other emcees Cos all I really rap about is smoking trees Please consider the fact that it doesn't fit in my hand Just a Vacaville kid that's trying to understand what's inside of my soul, and what's in my control See, people drift apart, but we fall as a whole And expressing my thoughts is all I really got And judging by the views, yo I guess it's not a lot But fuck the views, yo it's all about you I don't know what I'd be doing nowadays without you And if you ain't coming along, then I guess you're in the way This the story of a kid who had too much to say