Fumes from the paint can, slither through the night
Tunes from a wast land, visionary light
I'm giving people life from the mouth of a reaper
I'm like Malcolm The Teacher, announced through the speaker
My father taught me that buying a house is procedure
And beds are a privilege when a couch cushions cheaper
Sleeping on the floor isn't a doubtful procedure
When your dreams are the reality of doubt to receivers
Leaving my mark, in a literary state
On buildings and estates, no filters for my paint
I'm filming what I make
Dark clothes on, what I throw on, these pilgrims wanna hate
On the pillars that I make
A gathering for my comrades
Passionate what I forecast
Question Marks on they forehead
Looking at me when they walk past
Outlaw throwing the law out
There's an out-pour of what I thought out
Cops got me all sought out
Cause my work now get me more clout
Uh
Building my name up, never thought it get like this
Ya'll do the same stuff, Ya'll ain't see no shit like this
Remain humble through it all, man I don't bogart
Remember my past life and that helps me go so hard
Sleeping on benches, the stenches from the bums are so relentless
But so is my drive, my hearts an engine
Fuel, labored so long fingers that draw what I have viewed
My table is gone, eat on the floor while I chew
Young Panther looking at the front pagers
The Basquiat's, The Warhol's, all the plush painters
Inspiration on a daily basis
I copped a can and went bombing like Hiroshima in train stations
Last name numerical
Question what I'm telling you
I'll question plus riddle you like Batman in the physical
Think about it, and keep it with you like a souvenir
And when you do come find me, I'll be in Union Square