Yeah, I got neighbors, they be thinkin’ I’m sellin’ dope
Little do they know, I’m just makin’ records, hope
They don’t call the police on a n**** just tryna cope
With this fame and this pressure, man, I’m walkin’ a tightrope
Dreamville in the basement, studio sessions till four
White folks peekin’ out the blinds, wonderin’ what’s in store
I ain’t movin’ no weight, just movin’ these souls
Grammy on the mantle, still they think I’m on parole
I guess the Benz look suspicious, the crib too nice
Success look like crime when you Black, that’s the price
So I smile and I wave, keep the music low
Pray they never SWAT my door, that’s the life, though