Lyrics: Matthew Curtis
Music: Mike Osipenko
Intro:
Yo, check it
Verse 1:
Yo, whether it’s the Abbey, SubT, or the GrandB
I’m aimin’ to **** up the game and no, I don’t have any Plan B
Some know me as Vex while others know me as Matt C
I’m killing’ my ABCs, I use my D, but I keep it Class E
Not Mac Miller, not on any Donald Trump shit
But the way that I function is out of this world like abductions
I keep ‘em coming like Old Country Buffet luncheons
But my bass bumpin’s a bit better for your stomach
Not on that punk shit, remember when rap was something
I could never dream that I could do but now it’s all that I’m coming for
I’m wanting more than where I’m at right now and what I got in store
Catapult me up to where I’m watching from the bottom floor
I show my songs to friends of mine and they say “Oh my God, it’s yours?”
As if the fact that I can rap is crazy just like common core
Mathematics, you take addition and subtraction
Subtract the whack shit, add a track and i’m spazzing
Hook:
In this speck of time
I’m here to do nothin’ but bring the best of mine
Here to kill a little bit of time with my rhymes
Ain’t gon’ let nobody take me down from my high
[x2]
Verse 2:
This is that boom-bap, lack of autotune rap
Not a saint, but I’m nice on a track, get ‘em like “Who Dat”?
Got ‘em like “Who’s Matt?” Listen to my cool rap
Listen to my vision I’m kickin’ when I spit a true track
I’m in the cut like some indica that’s up in a blunt
When it comes to getting love while you’re getting none, I’ll be getting some
I don’t spit enough, I got plenty songs that are written up
My problem is I’m never happy ‘nuff with em to finish em
I hate to split and run, but a man’s gotta get dinner, son
But I’m keepin’ it Gucci though when I’ll leave you shiver like winter’s coming (Burr!)
How could I be more Chicago?
I put my first track out in March of twenty-twelve, I’m repping 3-1-2 like it’s my motto
‘Cept I got a siete siete tres in my numero
Picking up the flow fast when I hit the throttle
Careful when you be coasting down the avenue, there’s potholes
No staccato with the flow, I’m keeping it legato
Hook:
In this speck of time
I’m here to do nothin’ but bring the best of mine
Here to kill a little bit of time with my rhymes
Ain’t gon’ let nobody take me down from my high
[x2]
Verse 3:
Intricate with the writtens, I’m getting into collisions
With rappers who be spittin’ and don’t think outside of the prism
I got this shit in the box, on lock, ready for shipping
Aiming for the world, **** a road, I’ll be globe tripping
Rid of my old living, I’m getting the flow sicker
Envision a bold picture of women, no gold diggers
Of liquor and cold pitchers of guinness with no limits
Get it? It’s so vivid, I’m still at home, spitting
In my microphone, living room set in my home, getting it
Can’t afford to pay for no damn studio visit, bitch
Well, that’s half a truth, but I got bills ’n shit
College debt from 3 years of classes with nil to show for it
Cell phone, utilities, and rent and then I’m broke as shit
I hope to get a cash flow off of the flow I spit
12 years old I thought I was a hopeless kid
I wrote raps in classes but never thought that I’d go for it
Had a can of whoop-ass but said that I’d never open it
Grabbed a hat and managed to pull off some hocus pocus shit
Couldn’t figure out ‘bout the weather like Mr. Roker did
But I grabbed a pen and a notepad and finally found what my focus is
Hook:
In this speck of time
I’m here to do nothin’ but bring the best of mine
Here to kill a little bit of time with my rhymes
Ain’t gon’ let nobody take me down from my high
[x2]
Outro:
Da da da da da
Da da da da da da da da da da
Da da da da da da da da da da da da
Da da da da da da da da da da da da
Yeah, see
I’m just here to bring the best that I can bring
And, if, if they’re not feelin’ it
**** it, I feel it