Therapy - The Alchemist, Evidence, Blu, Kid Cudi

Dear People, it’s a minute since I checked in

Record’s still spinning where I left it

I done a lot since I seen you last, shit moving fast

The world got itself in a real hurry

Still I tell 'em: worst come, don’t worry

I bought that crib with the dough you left me

Then hit the plane toured the world

So bills made the first with rock babs and Al right beside me

Life is poison, it’s ivy

I ain’t speaking on yours, that’s how mine be

He ain’t lying, each verse I write the next minute of your life

Flow’s ghetto the hood’s my lively

Good health, yeah yeah to that

Another year in the black, so many years in the red

I was losing my mind, I was up on my game

Right person, wrong place, just ahead of my time and it’s mine

Where do we go?

Where do we go?

Where do we go when we’re losing our minds?

Where should I go?

Where should I go?

Where should I go when I’m losing my mind?

Where do we go?

Where do we go?

Where do we go when we’re losing our minds… minds?

This is our therapy

Dear People, been a minute since I checked in

Been, chin-checking mics, collecting checks but kept it steppin'

Stepped in with Ex but had to «X» a couple best friends

Who let ends be the reason I left them

The left wing of the west went

Venom in them cobras when the wind blows

Been on it since the moment rain was pouring out my window

I danced in it, in my b-boy stance

Standing in the midst kicking stanzas to chicks

Till they dance too

Cool as a fan, too, student of the true school

Catch me in a band and a game calling plays

Play da fool I make the rules

Call it lame but it’s the law

Play the war yet whenever they play the song y’all get loose

Off the juice, busting hard earned bars to scar loots

Scarred youth, my heart’s firm y’all it’s all truth

God-Lee, cross-breed between Spike, God, and Bruce

When I’m kicking it, they’re wondering if God’s talking to Blu but it’s…

Dear People, on the corner’s where the evil

Created a share of the drama

That got the tears from your mama

Hittin' the steps of the steeple

Livin' unfair and unequal

Lies to the afterlife this here, you ain’t prepared for the sequel

These rappers is see-through and transparent

This man’s spirit deal with advanced lyrics

They can’t hear it, I can’t bear it, I can’t wear it

It’s trash, it’s lyrical masturbation I’m not making a fashion statement

Your verse is doctored I call 'em quacks they lacking patience

They just want they validation, congratulations

Try walking the streets till four in the morning

Looking for rappers to battle feeling like you’d die if you ignore your calling

Then hop on a greyhound, LA-bound

Perform in the club while they busting shots, stay down

Got it for the cause, just because they clap don’t mean that you need the

applause

Dear People, sincerely yours