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letra de worth it - abstract

[intro]
yeah, umm

[chorus]
no matter what you say, man
haha, no matter what they say
no matter what you say, man
to do this sh-t ain’t easy
tryna find a reason why the rap game need me
no matter what you say, man

[verse 1]
alright, yo
he just wanted the money, he just strived for the fame
he wanted all the kids and all the girls to know his name
a broken heart unspoken for introduced him to the game
not weed or cocaine but the art of recordin’ the pain
scribble down a couple words here and there to cut the chains
after all he built had fallen, he’d rebuild his frame
the honesty in his voice was then given a name
and from that day forward, his outlook would never ever be the same

[chorus]
nah, no matter what you say, man
no matter what you say, man
to do this sh-t, it ain’t that easy
tryna find a reason why the rap game need me
nah, it ain’t that easy
tryna find a reason why the rap game need me
[verse 2]
alright
he tried his best but got lost to musical identity
for the sake of his own thoughts, he turned friends into enemies
had an act for hatin’ on ass ’cause them females pretend-to-be’s
developed a hate for the fakes, the popular plastic mini-me’s
thoughts arugin’ in his head
took all night to write, but not to read
someone shoulda told him that a heart was all he’d really f-ckin’ need
so he grabbed it, took paper with emotion, he artfully stabbed it
always kept it fresh ’cause when he was done writin’, he capped it
tried to be like others, takin’ bits and pieces from his favorite rappers
thinkin’ if he wore the shoes, the hats, the hoodies
that somehow it would actually matter
thinkin’ that box logos would make the fame come faster
but at the end of the day, he realized
it was always himself that he was after
he wasn’t the creator, he wasn’t another mathers
he was his own man; to get to the top, he’d climb his own ladder
so here i am, lookin’ for that last step
judgin’ by the height left, there’ll be a while before i make it yet
ain’t done in this game ’til it’s covered in these fingerprints
’til then, the mic’s on, notes are opened, and yes, the black’s lit
ain’t makin’ as many songs ’cause now i’m makin’ sure
that everything i write is perfect
ain’t writin’ a line if the syllables ain’t worth it

- abstract

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