straight up, we all disciples in the rap jungle that crumbles/
success is tha key to tha humble, proud niggas always tumble/
I see that riches attract bitches, it comes from spit of tha tongue/
on street corners, niggas used to say i had talent from day one/
but look what rap has become, itz all publicity stunts/
they mask tha children that rap tighter than tha philly blunt/
i crave tha fame, that bring cream that can make you say" i copped it"/
but instead ma status of fame rite now say "i got no chedda' in ma wallet"/
i want tha fame to provide fo' ma family, from holdin dem cheques/
tha type of fame that holds tecs, and tha frost around ma neck/
tha type of fame where ya money clip always hold 100 grand/
and you can lie on mink spreads, smokin purple haze by tha gram/
and you got so many hits, you known as tha 106 and park fella/
but you can still get love from projects, as moet drinkin' club dweller/
fame that makes bitches wanna rock it, waiters gonna pop it/
you pocket shit, and still come out wit profit/
and young kats where their clothes to do how you do/
and emcees jump off buildings to be in tha streets like you/
and so much damn fame, you got your clothes to match yur tim boots/
but so much fame, that you never forget your damn roots/