The Reaper's Hood - Nicholas Craven, Ransom

Ayo, I got a beautiful mind, man

For real

Give me my roses while I’m here

I done see shit so differently, man

It’s like

It’s like I can picture everything

Every word in my head, I picture it

Several bullet wounds on these hooded goons

You could assume it’s the type of product you cooked in spoons

I took the fumes so every drug that they would consume

When opportunity knocked, it came in and shook the room

Why do I speak so vividly on these crooked tunes?

Why should I preach my ministry when you look to coon?

Nah, this ain’t the average street rhetoric, I teach etiquette

I speak delicate, but move with the strength to impeach presidents

You made them think that your art’s official

But all I see is this artificial

I don’t concern myself with these artists issues

I got daughters, come feel the wrath of their father’s pistols

From a era when bootlegging DVDs

Might’ve been thought better than have a career in medicine

I’m from a era where a pack of Newports, a pint of some Everclear

I take away pain as if it was never there

My every vocal is carved with a diamond, the Harvard of rhyming

The stars is aligning, that’s marvelous timing

Far from a street rapper, I’m Langston Hughes with a tainted view

You soft as a hymen, I’m breaking pussies, too late for rookies

A scholar like W.E.B

How the fuck could you be me?

Every single word I utter is 3D

A motion picture, my picture’s in motion, a different devotion

That’s what sets me apart from all these dicks you’re promoting

Fact

I still got it, man

I still got it

I be talking, man

The Reaper’s Hood, boy