From the forthcoming Joe Cyrus album, 'The Space Between Thoughts'
This is hip-hop, put your fuckin fists up
The money got funny, but buddy money won't be with us
When our death's up from punchin a clock
Just because somebody wondered where his money got dropped
It could be somebody runnin from cops
Or somebody runnin funny money, hustlin on blocks
A buddy letting all his honies suck off the top
Or a brother vesting all his money trustin in stocks
I'm not trustin any system where the person on top
Worships money as his personal god
I'm a person earnin earnest with a personal job
Pennin verses earning pennies when you purchase a song
My purpose burnin any person's memory is certain
When the urge to etch my legacy with energy is surgin
I purse my purty lips into a smirk and put my work in
When I'm learning bout my Self I'm earning wealth that mother Earth gives
