All is quiet on the Eastern front/
Inside me's a riot, it's drivin' me to stunt/
What should I work for?/
Fast cars, bad broads, getting cream from million-dollar schemes/
At last, but alas it's just a dream, unfulfilled/
Spitting between the lines to keep you on your heels/
Pursuit of Happyness flow, don't care for ma** appeal/
Forget that paper chasing dream cus we need something real/
So what's the deal? I don't feel that shallow chatter/
They talking bogus, it's that gossip that don't even matter/
Spewing that nonsense, man they sounding mad as hatters/
This must be amateur hour, time to cue the laughter/
But it makes me sadder when the effort sounds empty-hearted/
Sounds like they trying to end what Hip-Hop started/
Dearly departed, is there anything left sacred/
Fools rushing to say it/
No thinking, they just spray it/
And then the radio play it/
Instead, I wanna hear your score, so voluptuous/
Melodic curves, I grind to your groove/
And all I wanna do is hear flows that stay G6 fly/
Make all the far Eastern ladies wanna move/
Does it sound appealing, or fall upon deaf ears/
Hope it's the former, cus the latter is my worst fear/
Austere, they sounding simple, got me jaded/
But I pick myself up, can't stop, never faded/
But rather, more focused than ever/
Looking at the puzzle and trying to put the (put the) pieces together/
I said, I'm more focused than ever, so I say/
Reject the game, Love God/
On my grind forever/