Hear Me - Journalist 103, Saigon, Fashawn

I’m in the struggle for y’all out here you, man. Ya know?

So listen closely. Yo

I craft rhymes designed for mind stimulation

I was blessed to turn a hobby to an occupation

Rock the mics for the people, gettin' standin' ovation

‘Cause my verbal demonstration’s a little abrasive

Hatin' fakeness, protestin' the fairy tale

Bein' booked by the radio for the record sales

But I see what it is—they want our souls in hell

The devil’s runnin' the media—it ain’t hard to tell

I derail the sucka train, the thought

Which usually leaves most of my kind locked in the blocks

Lil' cockin' the Glock with the pistol to your knot

Check it in before you splattered over this sidewalk

I don’t side talk—homeboy, I’m a straight shooter

My verbal missiles is locking on anything moving

So if you know like I know, you’d better keep it moving

Before you caught in the stampede of a verbal movement

Every word I express turns to action. Watch it manifest

Speaking out for the oppressed, fightin' for freedom, homie, and nothin' less

Steady, spittin' that raw shit. Watch as the crowd turns to mosh pits

Let the run this truth when I step in the booth. Who wanna start shit?

It’s hip hop. Tower can sell. Niggas is still in and out of them jail

Papa still got the powder for sell

All the blindfolded blacks act like we ain’t allowed to rebel

It’s hell. We runnin' out of ways to try to prevail

The women turnin' to strippers, got vaginas for sale

The fellas is just ridiculous, lack loyalty and honor as well

I got some comrades and mine are for real

Check. I’m tryin' to call the guys, is ready to organize

The Good Guy Gang bangers, boy we on a ride

You be surprised if I could describe all the times

Niggas ready to ride—most of them offer they lives

If we buildin' for the betterment of our children

The future look bright and we never give up until then

Although I never earn a third of my respects

I still shoulder the Tech. My culture: Verbal Architect

Yeah, full effect

Every word I express turns to action. Watch it manifest

Speaking out for the oppressed, fightin' for freedom, homie, and nothin' less

Steady, spittin' that raw shit. Watch as the crowd turns to mosh pits

Let the run this truth when I step in the booth. Who wanna start shit?

I give birth to a rhyme, now I’m flashing my flesh

Let destiny manifest with every sentence I sketch

The world is mine—I don’t deserve nothin' less

Cut all the small talk. Cut the check

I rap for those in in need of reparation

Reciprocity. I’m on the Odyssey

. Obviously. I’m the last real nigga alive as far I can see

Uh. It’s like my pen’s filled with Ex-Lax

Shit on the track. What you expect? Splat!

Lames get the chains off they neck snatched

I don’t see a finishing line, I’m on my next lap

Ugh. I can’t stand you niggas

Y’all be on that bullshit. I should brand you niggas

Uh. Not comfortable with coming in third

Got a bundle of words. I just wanna be heard

Word… Word…

Every word I express turns to action. Watch it manifest

Speaking out for the oppressed, fightin' for freedom, homie, and nothin' less

Steady, spittin' that raw shit. Watch as the crowd turns to mosh pits

Let the run this truth when I step in the booth. Who wanna start shit?