I Know

This the split between who I am, and who I want to be
Where n*ggas salute by the sight of me
Even now I got n*ggas in booths rapping sh*t, hand delivered, just in spite of me
The anxiety
Oh the rivalry
I left all that shit dead with my privacy
So why don't all you haters go quietly
And give me the amens how the choirs be

My n*ggas going up like we talking zippers
But Its going down like we talking strippers
Cause I'm in the kitchen, cooking with the coke in the pot, stir it, let it sit and simmer