Dreams and Nightmares Craftstyle

I was raised up in New York
Where shame don’t get two thoughts
And soon or later gotta live the same
Shit that you talk
Well when you start to crack just like
The pavements where you walk
You don’t be somethin’ you not
Don’t let em see you sweat dude cause
If you get sentimental they send
Shots all at your mental like "Cryin
Tears ain't what men do" lil’ homie
I’m here to tell you that that’s bullshit
Trust, cause I done seen both sides
I seen nerds turn shit up
I done seen thugs cry
Don’t believe stereotypes
Fuck Bose, Sony or Panasonic
Rappers want a seat at the table but
Will they stand up on it?
I done got the game in my hands
But I wouldn’t dare to palm it
Shit I’d be too scared to drop it
The effects could be atomic
This just ain’t for flex
Not everyone can come up here
If only half them listen
Still responsible for one ear
If one year’s my run
That’s one year my tongue sprung off the
Roof of my mouth to influence somebody’s
Son so I must give this truth
Cause ain't no single man inferior
Be you like a terrier barin’ this
Cross of authenticity in lands nefarious
It’s hard
Cause anyone can cop some J’s it’s only
You alone that’s wearin your scars
I done seen all the inequities
I know how it work
I had that same weed in my
Bookbag but I never got searched
I had that same rebellion wanderin church
Cause I got kicked out Sunday school like
Every week for all my devilish smirks
So I end up on the right track
Some of it is white black
Some of it is class strata
Trauma where the strife’s at
They said that’s not how you gon
Live but I knew those kids
I swore that one day with the mic
That I would go and fight back
Cause most people do the best they can
Most folks are just pedestrians
Havin’ the voices of privilege
But all these blogs just be
Fall for the gimmicks
All for a couple clicks and subscriptions
That shit be makin me sickened
So fuck it you ain't gotta give me shit bruh
Try and box me out
I’m Porzingis with the tip dunks
Hit em wit a little bit of this and that
That finger in the middle of the fist of rap
Leave meals right there on the table
Turn the dream to a nightmare
Make em live with that, man oh no
So look me in the eyes when you talk
It’s that young Craft cat
Yeah he the guy with the heart
I’d die ‘fore I let these
Fucks deprive you of art
I ain't tryin hit the charts man
I’m tryin hit a spark man I’m gone