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Oprah Freestyle

by Radamiz

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about

produced by Blank Noriega

lyrics

i'ma need some proof
Where’s the lie detector yo?
I'ma need the truth


Don’t expect all talent to hit 1,000,000 views
Like you can’t expect the realist shit to be displayed on the news
Pussies sell out for fame, you Pro-Tools prostitute
When you ain't never had enough
Then what you got to lose?
I'm gon' win a VMA, all songs like ancestry.com
I just show my DNA
Bullshit all go DOA
Cops still love to lock us up, that's cuffing season
I know that you a human but act like a fucking demon
The pessimism you preachin' giving me trouble breathing
Claustrophobic when you plot for losses
Been lock and loaded since snotty noses
Can't answer the door back in the 90's, they let pistols ring
Murder, murder monologue
I ain't hearing anything
Pupils white when I kicks these eulogies
How much hoes I hit? like 22 or 3, pillow talkin about the truer me
All I banged was Dead Presi's and Diplomatic Immunity
Back when we were duckin' seekin' our true talent and truancy
My heart in my lungs, spit a rap, spit out blood
Prayers hands full of tears, turned our chat to a flood
You don't rap, you just mask what you lack with a drug
So I'm not passive when you laugh, I turn a dap to a hug

I'ma need some proof
Where’s the lie detector yo?
I'ma need the truth

Life been unbelievable
The way I A&B the game so inconceivable
I master the platform
If goosebumps rise when i rhyme, fuck a rap forum
Fountain of Youth been turning into a sandstorm
Got's to remind power to the latin and black boys
And holla at women with confidence, not cat calls
Sometimes I thought the lord had me blackballed
If Jesus a Carpenter then I would get what I ask for
Should get what I ask for
Couldn't get and wouldn't then I turn into a bad sport
Strangers call me asshole
I just need my chance dawg
I been hitting 3's and never touch the fucking backboard
I been hunting thieves, extorting kings and printing passports
I can't fucking dream, can't get no sleep, can't keep my ass calm
At a bar with God and I swear this gon' be my last call
I see no road, see no answers, no hope, no breaking point, no door
No vacant spot, so low, feel sold out, feel no break, feel left out
Been stoned out, been strung out, at the brink, i can't think
I can't think, i don't know
I don't know i don't know
What to say, how to blow, who to touch, how to pray
Who to trust, is self belief an ego or is it real luck?
Ain't gotta die, monetize, emphasized that I'm dope
You a lie, none of ya'll gonna survive if i don't Go
I feel dry, waiting on me to go and quit but i'm a GOAT
I know I know the know inside even if it don't Billboard climb
My future kid can't eat a Grammy when he hungry
You gon compliment my fit but do you love me mothafucka?
Need no follow, need no nod, don't even touch me
Ya'll could be 12 foot 6 and still no one above me mothafucka
Facin' this bad luck but still I go and trust me
Still I know to trust my gut
Know i won't give up

credits

released February 19, 2020
Mixed by Chris Conway in No Mystery Studios
Soho, New York
released in 2018

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all rights reserved

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Radamiz Brooklyn, New York

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