7 Pm In Polo

Yeah, look
I've attempted humility
But it seems as though
The niggas at the bottom
Aren't capable of civility
They say my grass is greener
They're jealous of my fertility
I'm fucking up the game
While they're stuck with their virginity
Reaching for the stars
I won't have to reach for long
With all these bars
You would think that I'm a
Criminal at large
I'm deep in my bag
I'm feeling like a school shooter
In this rap game
Every word is a bullet and
I'm emptying the mag
I'm hitting every target
I ain't talking supermarkets
I be chilling in my room thinking
How would Cole start this
If Kendrick was around
Would he approve or say it's garbage
Tryna make each lyric flawless
Concerned about the fame
Will I be loved when I've departed
With all my friends doing interviews
Like, "This is how it started"
The quiet kid, soft-spoken
But if you knew him
Always joking
And now they listen to my music
Like, "That nigga Langston wrote this"
But as of late I'm working retail
Packing Polo in the Commons
I grew up in the suburbs
Selling drugs was not a option
But a customer's a customer
No matter what they're shopping
And a hustler's a hustler
No matter what they're stocking
I'm locked into my cellular
Full of bars that's a regular
Tryna stack up five G's
While I'm connecting to your medulla
Feel like Naruto in Sage Mode
My Chakra's building up
Like a boxer in the flow state
Waiting on that uppercut
I ain't choose this rap shit
This rap shit chose me
I got letter from Craig Mack
Before I walked on two feet
"Here comes a brand new flavor in ya ear"
Like a Jedi playing mind tricks
On the whole industry
And may the force be with me
I know executives shifty
An old nigga once told me
"Don't sign nothing too quickly"
He was once my age
He had dreams to be a star
He told me, "Keep your head on straight"
"And I promise you'll make it far"

7 PM I'm on my lunch break
Hoping Rob won't keep us up late
Gotta get home, take a shower
Do it all again the next day
Make some beats before I go to sleep
And hope the funds change
Write some lyrics and pray that
When y'all hear it
Y'all make the stank face
Put me in a TikTok edit
I don't care about the front page
I don't care if all the bitches
Scream my name until their lungs ache
I'm content with dirty rooms
And busted shoes and that fake Goose
I got on 125th street in the middle of June
It's been cold the whole year
Time is blowing faster in the wind
And I worry that my deadline's almost here
January took all of my tidings and good cheer
Might try my hand at something else
'Cause I ain't sure with this career
But I can't land the plane yet
I got passengers on board
I made promises and got
Responsibilities I can't afford
I don't do this for awards or applause
I gotta ensure me and my niggas
Retire on sandy shores