Wanderlust

And that’s me, running through the airport Shuffle on the plane, I be like ‘Dear Lord …’ Let me make it, give me One More Chance No Biggie, First Class in my sweat pants Professor, first class in my sweat pants Smellin louder than ten Xtant amps And you know just what I’m talkin bout I took the road less traveled—yeah, that’s my route And yeah I hear you but the fuck is you talkin bout? And if we have a run-in, I make you walk-it-out Young buck entered the game—chalk it out We here now, been building for years now Mastered myself, running toward fear now Went from never heard of—to it’s been a while Now they all on my tip like a Black & Mild Shit, but I’m just young, black, free & wild Coldest Winter Ever, November child Night flights, the lights is gettin dimmer now Dome against the window mind in limbo Reminiscing all the shit that I been through Memoir-ing all the shit that I’m into In the midst of pulp fiction, I been true And nah, I ain’t tryna offend you But if I did, then farewell, I bid you I learn to always keep it moving, never stay anywhere too long. They say if you drop a frog in boiling water, it’ll jump out. But if you drop it in room-temp water and slowly heat it up, the frog sits there and dies. I’m trying to be the frog that gets the jump on the boil. So I’m learning to see as far as possible and, same time, avoid being seen, lay in the cut like peroxide. I’m growing eyes that hear and ears that see I drive around the city looking at the shapes the shadows make on the ground, against the buildings, on people. Philly is a city of shapes. Out here everybody has an angle, like geometry. Squares trying to box me in. Octagons trying to stop me. Circles trying to throw me for a loop. Everything on the line. The sooner I catch the angle, the better off I am