#OldYe2

I miss the old Ye
Soul Ye
Where's the fuckin' old days?
The Old Ye, where he wasn't fuckin' high on cocaine

The one that wouldn't say 'Vote Donald Trump'

Or wouldn't make songs with trash-ass Lil Pump

The old Ye, that really spoke out against the evils

Like 'George Bush doesn't care about black people'

The old Ye that really spit his soul through the wire

No lie, when I was little, that shit was straight fire
What happened to the old West with bookbags on?
Had the old skits and shit with Bernie Mac on
The old West that told us nothing's ever promised today?
Jesus Walks gave me so much inspiration to pray
The old West that had the cover with the bear and shit?
Before he ever told us life's just not fair and shit
The 808s was alright, but College Dropout was better
That old shit when he called himself Kanye Cheddar
That was the old Ye where he wasn't always spazzin'
Always chopped up soul records like magic
That was him before society's menace
Storming award shows like 'I'mma let you finish'
The old Ye would never call Donald Trump his brother
He sure changed since the death of his mother
Calling himself a God and using too much distortion
Occasionally being known to blow things out of proportion

I miss the old Ye when he was part of Roc-A-Fella

Bumping that shit heavy, Diamonds are forever
But who am I to leave out some of the good shit he's done today?
All of the Lights was a banger, and so was Power and Runaway

04 to 13 was the good old days
The new Ye is okay, but I miss the Old Ye

#OldYe3

Why are niggas afraid to show their tears?
Where's August Alsina been all these years?

Why do we even have fears?

Why is it so hard for a rapper from Carolina to get in the game?

Is anyone truly worthy of fame?

Why are most mainstream rappers never so raw with the tongue?

Why did X have to die so young?

Where do we ever truly go when we die?

Why is it so hard to be truthful, but it's easy to be living a lie?

Who is truly controlling the people behind the scenes?
And what visions do we truly see in our dreams?
Will we ever see Donald Trump impeached?
Will the end of racism and conflict ever be within our reach?
When will we stop the police brutality?
Unnecessary arrests, beatdowns, and even fatalities
Sometimes I think they pose the law cause they hate us
Don't wanna see a nigga successful, so they plan to fade us
What if we had a second chance at life?
Then we would have to fix our mistakes, and maybe we would stop livin' trife
Why can't old heads just realize the truth?
And how they stay praising niggas with lyrics, but they stay hating the youth?
Why does years feel like months, and months feel like days?
And such and such, and millenniums feel like decades?
Why can't most rappers stay off the lean
And the xans, too, knowing what consequences that they have foreseen?
Why can't most black fathers stay with their kids?
We never know; they might be dead, ran away, or even doing bids
Why am I asking these, knowing you won't have even a clue?
Most importantly, who am I even asking these to?

#OldYe1

Niggas sleepin' on me, how I fuck a beat up like Tay Keith
I bury 'em eight-feet, I'm a pitbull with rabies
You a daisy like Duke, your shit makes me puke
I'm still wondering how you came into the game on a fluke
Bruh, your shit's too saccharine
You're asinine for getting the slightest idea
That you could fuck with these battle rhymes
But it don't matter, I'm
Gonna crush you
With these bars that'll have you thinking that Young Metro didn't trust you
The way I flow so perfectly
And Murda Beatz
Is third degree
I spit sashimi, they spit nursery
You've heard of me?
It's TEK-22
Fresh out of the NC
Never frozen like Wendy's
If you want beef, I spit lyrical frenzies
I won't stop until I've made it like Mike Will
If you don't give me my deserved respect, then I will
Be forced to take it from you
How come you

Are trying to tweak in my presence

Knowing damn well I'll hit you with the 1,2

And a biscuit

Ain't shit gravy

Mumble rappers don't amaze me

Speaking crazy

They fuckin' lazy

Like that maid Florence

While I'm lyrically moving up like Jefferson

Rhyming like a fucking veteran

If rap's a sport, call me a letterman

No jackets

The fact is

To get on my fuckin' level, it takes practice

Ripping niggas like fabrics

And won't stop until these shits are fuckin cassics

And that is

The end of this song