The Rage of Roemello

Staring so long I swear the page saying hello
I'm hearing these songs but tryna change up the metro
It feel like he'ron the way I'm straining wit the let go
The rage of it all, I swear to God
Wrote it to make you call me dope man, dope man
Got y'all in tune but that tune got me moved so if I choose to let this go and
Bid this shit adieu, and your listening improves
At least there's packages left if you living in that mood
See we attract to the stretch, everything should flip in twos
And if not, we should stop, like we did all we could do
So I'm on my gracefully bow, and on my way to that bow
I leave it up to you to perform my grace for me now
I mean, hands folded, maybe the plans folded
Wasn't supposed to love it, they say that you can't show it
I mean, easier spoken of, see where this goes for us
Say its real or at least hope that the motive was
Never had a second thought, never asked, never once
Knee deep in it, fuck it, we ain't leaving it
Until it all goes and we go to get to reach for it
And shit is smoke and mirrors and we swinging tryna see through it
Stick and move, I'm liable to switch & shoot
Like I ain't here to play with this fog, let's get this through
And I ain't here to stay with these odds, so when in tune
I'm either tryna even these odds or hit a new
As far as I can remember, we'd idolize thru the winter
And rather be in the 4 like when Stoudemire's at center
I mean, GS 400's is all we wanted
However we do it, long as we done it, the rage of Roemello
Listening to Gloria's youngest, had us all in the running
To wanna be what they told us we wasn't
Like all we need is to kno if we running, its not in place
Cuz ambition is by the day, word to Wale
I mean, same scenery we was tryna believe to be
Had us counting wins before we had us an in
And sleeping is paper thin, no wonder why we don't do it much
Sheets barely used, tell em all of this is new to us, right?
And every dream that I dream is littered
With the fiends that I done seen while tryna leave these visions
And so to clear it, I wrote to wanna be like him wit it
I hope he hear it, cuz word to Chi Ali we did it
I hope he hear it, word to this blue Yank'
100 grey bottoms, these shits never lose rank
And agreeing that heavy is the fade under it, but for the love of it
They look to you to carry it and everything its bundled with
Sunrise open your eyes, no surprise
Made it off of living for doe or die
Now you in the back of the coupe, glaring, half of the stoop staring
To the point where you can give away packs like Snoop Pearson
Think about it, yea, THAT kinda rich
Sing songs for black hoodies and black violins, I mean
The swan song for the evening
Forgive me in advance for your grievings, the rage of Roemello