stressed, drippin sweat as i sit at this desk,
depressed, tryna get this fuckin shit off my chest,
im trippin nd flippin, grippin this pen as im put to the test,
tryna impress, while i express myself thru this text,
as this paper is pressed with this pen, again and again,
im sippin this jin, tryna release these demons within,
my head spins as feelings scream under my skin,
im writing like sin, to jimmy i feel like next of kin,
cuz im tryna win, but somethings pullin me back,
im trapped, but i know i got the potential to kill a track,
but they sayin u aint black, ya hack, u cant rap,
but i stay strapped with a pen and this pads my bomb rack,
on the microphone im droppin them, stages im rockin em,
my pages pack a punch, rappers confront, im sockin em,
with lyrical techniques over beats that enthral the streests,
so sweet, everyone stops and stare when paul speaks,
u only get, 1 chance, 1 rhyme, 1 line,
1 stance, 1 time, to shine and prove yourelf,
u only get, 1 word, 1 mic, 1 light,
be heard, 1 night, to fight and prove yourself.