Problem

Look, I don’t wanna overlook the talent of X

But the owner should tell you about the havoc steps,

I ain’t tryin’ to give a cold shoulder but have a sense

Cryin’ for views isn’t that wise, gettin’ older and it’s just sets,

Of buying, they don’t improve on rhyming just wants flex,

All shining, recruits y’all to behoove his popularity

And honestly, it's a modern-day disparity,

Tradin' your artistic integrity for charity,

We lost a lot of people along the way, man, it's a tragedy,

Watchin' the culture unravel and slip away gradually,

I'm gettin' tired of the tears on niggas runnin' dry

Lookin' up at the sky, askin' the concrete why

Every time a brother finally steps into his prime

Some vulture comes around tryin' to cut short his time

I just wanna dampen them again and bring back the time,

Inject some truth into souls of the youth and inspire,

Give some shit that real niggas wanna show and gain,

Instead of all this watered-down clout ot mask the pain

But a group always out here cuttin' niggas time,

Actin' like they own the clock and plottin' on mine

Like what is the purpose of rappin' if we ain't makin' moves?

Just a bunch of puppets in some designer shoes,

What is the purpose of insertin' dominance in your verse

When the message you spreadin' is a generational curse?

You want a site but can't carry everyone's weight,

You post a quick four bars online and think that you great

But this a real Rap-Pad, you just typin' out the text,

Gettin' gassed by a syllable counter on what's comin' next,

They feed you to the wolves once you stop bringin' revenue,

Then find another clone to go and replace you on the avenue,

It's sthe same cycle spinnin', nothing ever changes in the mix,

Look at what happened to Biggie, Pac, and X..

Yeah, let's piggyback right on what I said about this RapPad landscape,

It's a digital graveyard where the track-crafters can't escape,

The current state of this beef toxicity made us dead, now buried, and long gone,

But you revive it like a toxic city built on a con,

And look, I don't give a fuck if a nigga below you or sittin' above,

You still read every syllable, still respond, pretendin' it's love hate,

But let's get brutal for a second, let's dissect your pathology,

I looked at your track record, and it demands an apology,

You only ever punchin' down, respondin' to the low-tier names

Safe bets to secure a win and validate your little internet games

But you never step up to the high niggas matchin' your weight,

When the heavyweights text, you leave 'em hangin' at the gate

You only responded to the CDs cause he forced you to move,

Backed you up against a wall with everything to lose

But let's look at everyone else navigatin' this virtual map of hell

Before we call it a wrap on the psychology of rap,

We all respond off of pettiness, it's a bitter reflex,

Chasin' validation via paragraph text,

It's never jealousy, stop lyin', that's a juvenile view(Clink)

It's pure competition lightin' a fuse inside of the queue(Clank)

We anchor our bars to a pad just to blow up our status,

Pourin' gasoline on a screen just to see who the baddest

We all wanna kill each other, no love in the surge,

We treatin' this whole platform like a localized Purge(BRRT)

And at this rate, we all gonna end up like Pac and Biggie,

Leavin' bodies in the streets of this digital city,

Since the Diddler wanna organize a killin' assassination,

Behind-the-scenes politics dividin' the nation,

And I ain't sayin' you the Diddler, Genx, don't get it twisted,

I'm sayin' RapPad gathers evidence that can't be reisted,

The data leaves paper trails like a real industry plot,

Just like Eminem trollin' DIddy, connectin' every single dot,

Twenty years of subliminals before the public could see,

And yet you get mad about a thread and blame it on me

I'm gettin' tired of that, the same redundant routine,

Honestly, maybe we just need to cancel this whole scene,

It's dead and gone at this point, but who holds the key?

... But you know what the problem is? Maybe the problem is me,

Yeah... (sigh)

I don't even know why I let myself get dragged back into this space, man.

It's like... we spend so much time buildin' these digital fortresses, tryin' to prove we the baddest, tryin' to prove out pens are sharper than the next man's.

But for what?

Look around.

We out here treatin' a screen like a war zone.

Actin' like we ready to purge each other overy some syllables and text.

We watched the greatest to ever do it- Pac, Biggie, hell even X, get torn away from the world for real. And here we are, playin' with the same dark energy like it's just a game to keep the site alive.

Like the toxicity is something to feed on.

I sat on these thoughts for two years. Two whole years, just watchin' the threads, watchin' the pettiness, Watchin' GenX, watchin' everyone just circle the drain.

I wanted to blame the owners. I wanted to blame the algorithm.I wanted to blame XF. I wanted to cancel the whole damn site and just walk away clean.

But I'm still here. I'm still typin'. I'm still respondin'

So yeah... I guess pointin' fingers doesn't change the mirror.

You know what the problem is?

Maybe the problem is me.