Kansas City country boy

they thought of me,

weak-minded.

 

They are full of it,

it being ignorance

and stroking on its blissfulness

not thinking I could rhyme a rhyme

while riddling through tiring times,

 

but my metaphors more clean than butt streaks,

and I got flows for Techanina beats

 

like,

 

This real rap

fuck the hate

cuz I kills that.

Reppin my town from the K to the C

since the DMV spittin real wack.

Nah I’m kiddin, though

my bars are direct not subliminal.

On another direction

I came here to flex

and I’m not opposed to co-writtens so,

 

hit me up if you wanna collab

cuz this DMV counter

could put our pens to the pads,

and spark a new wave

better than you’ve ever had.

 

          up.

Slo

 

Mixed with me,

mixed with my Forever Queen

mixed with we,

mixed with Kansas City,

 

where we’re from,

 

royal chiefs cheer

in red, white, blue and gold,

the best barbecue is sold,

 

actin opposite of what you’re truly reppin

is the named-definition of jeffin,

 

we infamously known as Killa City

cuz young niggas out there killin silly,

 

I know cuz

my Grandma’s house

was shot up for no good reason,

and where we’re from

there’s new blood on the leaves

at summer’s change to falls’ season,

 

but I am

here.

 

So find me a Boulevard beer,

and your “they” can become “we,”

connecting KC to the DMV.

 

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