Get Mine

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Jared Franklin

3:36

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Verse 1:
Life was just a box of chocolates.
Then, somebody had to go and be the opposite.
Now, they want to go and shit on your accomplishments, when Shit is for the birds, nigga. Polly wanted politics.
They want the goose in a noose. They steady ducking shit.,
I question if these niggas is eatin’; they need some sustenance. Tell the government I’m the 1 percent
Of troubled kids that want to bring about they punishment.
My name is Jared, I’m a teenaged survivor.
Kid that’s been inspired by the shit we can’t decipher
I’m a liar. I’m a fighter. Your usual human, scared of all the Wear and tear and pubic hairs that move to stupid dares.
Fair enough to say that I was hit with Cupid’s arrows in the
Dairy air. My love declared to music in my ears.
Powered by the pressure and the pain that made the kid
And now, niggas want to be nerds, when I thought everybody hated Chris.
Niggas want the key to me. They look at me like Jadakiss.
This just isn’t free to see. I ain’t afraid of saying it.
I want all the money from the people in this lunch line.
I’m finished breaking bread. You gon’ be toast when it’s crunch time.
Hook:
Get yours.
And I’ma get mine. Get yours.
And I’ma get mine.
Verse 2:
Ahem! Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen...
I’ma put my foot in this beat and make it my emblem.
For you to do the same, it would take like 20 simpletons.
I’m off the wall. I’m Michael, Quincy Jones, and Rodney Temperton.
I can rap, and that’s my sentiment.
I’ll spit a bar, another bar, another bar, another bar.
Another part. I gun and spar, I cut the smarts. I gut the heart. I park the car. I kill a mark. Another charge, another charge,
Another charge. How am I to balance this?
All the challenges I calculate, I’m building callouses.
I’d like to say, I’ve enever been into measuring fallaces.
The fallacy is most of my verses have been about it.
Damn. This character confidence is a muthafucka. I’m stabbing my practices in another brother.
This the paralysis of analysis.
I should’ve recalibrated Excalibur.
Pulled the lead up out the boulder when I found the paper. To Camelot, the caravan will come around the table.
Life is first a mindfuck, and then a headshot.
Ain’t no acne treatment gon’ get me rid of these red dots.
As the pencil drags across the page and makes another Mark upon the parchment, filling it with rage.
I’m called a bleeding heart, but what is there to gain
If only ice can be the isotope I bear within my veins?

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