COPPA

Can't you tell my pockets smell like copper? Good don't always mean proper Coins rattle like a quiet prayer Strands of synthetic hair scrawled across the underground Some tracks are never found Leave the scalp and scatter with the rats And instead bring the block back a platter Not just the scraps instead Seven Eastern got me perhaps mislead, trust the Back of my hand for the maps misread, lead myself into the belly of the beast Hoping I could take a seat Now the hustle took away all that's free Emptied my pouch of all that's me Got coins, but I prefer the change Got passion for I'd prefer the rage But in exchange what you're ready to exchange A couple mill' will only buy you a bigger cage Turn your pain into diamonds Lower your standards and horizons So enlighten Now it's heads or tails Fly or fail But we keep our eyes bound tight so we can hardly tell