A.J. Throwback - Take 37

If you could believe it
Some days, I hate the sound of my own voice
Like why would anybody wanna listen to ME for five minutes
Let alone 60
It's not raspy, not rugged (Take one, take two, here's another one
It's not overly distinctive (Take three, take four, and another one
But among all these voices (Take five, take six, take 37
How do I stand out
Questioning the script that I've written down, pissed how I spit it out
When I'm in the booth, biggest critic isn't Christgau
Buying macchiatos for my doubts, having sit downs
Asking, "Why my love headed south and y'all stick around
Did Chris Wallace ever go through this nonsense
Feeling like his voice isn't BIG enough to convince
Audience that he is content with his content
And confident that very few will object his project
My insecurities are sticking out, convex
Please let me put it in perspective, context
'93, cherry red boombox
Back when the dude rocked K-Swiss and tube socks
Listening to Tupac, Ice Cube, Black Moon, Redman
Hanging onto every single syllable they said, man
Critical injections, pinnacle inflections
Affected effectiveness of lyrical direction
Entrance, little ol' me swore
I was doing something when I dared to press record
My first rhyme about my ex who would cheat more
Let my homies hear it, "That was cool," didn't seek more
Nah, I ain't expect to hear "the boy's fire
I was two years removed from the boys' choir
Singing Troop to those girls in the classroom
Took me a sabbatical, the culture didn't have room
Another ten years before the booth
But in the meantime, put my voice to good use
As I pulled from my inner Mel Lindsey
Touch of Mel Blanc had the school in a frenzy
Speeches to lead? Yeah, I penned now
Voice of the youth, I was less Lil' Mama, more Les Brown
Plus the poetry would add another fresh sound
But it was that Mario Paint on my Super NES down
In my basement, my flow was kinda basic
Biggie laid the blueprints, all I did was trace it
Parodies, Black Al Yankovic of high school
"You did this on a video game?" "Yeah, I'm a fool
Was a while before they heard "here's another one
Had to get some better words and ton of drums
On the stage, I was better a cappella
Instead of trying to recreate the Wu or Roc-A-Fella
It was boom, tap, as the room clapped
At the first sign of life that the dude rapped
They were moved back, didn't know that he could harness
His way with words usually reserved for the Congress
Ha, monstrous, but largely, I paused it
Probably being comfortable with making beats caused it
But yeah buddy, first time in the booth
Just an intro, but them first lines were the truth
And I heard myself, grown up, compressed
Flow was ji hot, I might need a cold compress
So I wrote complex rhymes to keep my arm stretched
From my competition, but it's still not a contest
Star of the gang, but to masses, I did not appeal
Now it's less Webster's, more '93 Bonnevilles
I rode smooth on the Pro Tools, folks who
Barely knew my middle name ain't believe that I'm the same dope dude
My own wife even gotta ask twice
And I ask myself, "Am I that WACK or that NICE
Breaking down bars: "Man, I could've worded THAT different
What in Sam Hill was THAT blur I ad-libbed in
And THAT syllable was s'posed to be pronounced more
Where was the energy that should've made it bounce more
I mean, it's okay, could've made it count more
Then I hear the crowds shout more and doubt is outdoors
Exhale, that's the breath I had to make
Breathe Gladiator, we ain't doing 37 takes
I just need to get over myself, fam
My voice is my voice
Take one, take two, here's another one
Take three, take four, and another one
Take five, take six, take 37? Chill

Written by:
Bradford Burwell, Joseph Goings, Keith Delts

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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