Yeah, clean plates, no cuss on the slate,
Still paint the city like it’s platinum faith.
I came from the basement, now the view got layers,
Countin’ quiet wins, no caption, no haters.
21 courteous, but the pen stay sharp,
Silk-shirt savage in a bulletproof heart.
Drake pour tea with the lemon-cut truth,
Privilege heavy, but we balance the booth.