Wanderlust

And that’s me, running through the airport
Shuffle on the plane, I be like ‘Dear Lord …’
Let me make it, give me One More Chance
No Biggie, First Class in my sweat pants
Professor, first class in my sweat pants
Smellin louder than ten Xtant amps
And you know just what I’m talkin bout
I took the road less traveled—yeah, that’s my route
And yeah I hear you but the fuck is you talkin bout?
And if we have a run-in, I make you walk-it-out
Young buck entered the game—chalk it out
We here now, been building for years now
Mastered myself, running toward fear now
Went from never heard of—to it’s been a while
Now they all on my tip like a Black & Mild
Shit, but I’m just young, black, free & wild
Coldest Winter Ever, November child
Night flights, the lights is gettin dimmer now
Dome against the window mind in limbo
Reminiscing all the shit that I been through
Memoir-ing all the shit that I’m into
In the midst of pulp fiction, I been true
And nah, I ain’t tryna offend you
But if I did, then farewell, I bid you

I learn to always keep it moving, never stay anywhere too long. They say if you drop a frog in boiling water, it’ll jump out. But if you drop it in room-temp water and slowly heat it up, the frog sits there and dies. I’m trying to be the frog that gets the jump on the boil. So I’m learning to see as far as possible and, same time, avoid being seen, lay in the cut like peroxide. I’m growing eyes that hear and ears that see

I drive around the city looking at the shapes the shadows make on the ground, against the buildings, on people. Philly is a city of shapes. Out here everybody has an angle, like geometry. Squares trying to box me in. Octagons trying to stop me. Circles trying to throw me for a loop. Everything on the line. The sooner I catch the angle, the better off I am