Palaces

We've been talented, all along
We think we're fortresses, made of stone
But we're just palaces made out of flesh and bone
Waiting for our time to shine to come on home

Lord, please bless my castle of sand
Waiting on a battle, so I handle all in my hand
The war forces more toward my door with demands
More important than the fortune that you poured in my pan
From free-styling to recording advance
Can you please reinforce all my borders and bands
I should've put it towards some plans
Want a forest, gotta water some plants (huh)
Normally, ignoring the branch is par for the course
But when you hold a culture you can't
Can't parkour over a part
You gotta march forth over your art
And for your fans
When you cornered, gotta shorten your stance
Lessen your tales, Philly-shelled, don't orbit or dance
You hear the bell then report to the band
Then do whatever that the chorus commands
And for the Gram'

We've been talented, all along
We think we're fortresses, made of stone
But we're just palaces made out of flesh and bone
Waiting for our time to shine to come on home

Lord, please bless my mansions of cards
If ever challenged, let us camp in the car (uh)
Or hang a hammock from a branch in the park
A planet made of uninhabited parts (uh)
Being anonymous don't grant you some dark
Even astronomers keep a camera on Mars (uh)
Satellites attract where you are
And see your blackest night, attack it with sparks (uh)
Fireworks are not a match for a star
And fire hurts, burns, blackens, and scars (uh)
Can still emerge learned, attractive, and sharp
From out the ashes of galactic barrage, yeah
It gets savage where they traffic mirage
It ain't no magic, they in back of secret hatches and frauds
You gotta take it back to the start
You gotta tap and learn to rap from the heart, yeah

We've been talented, all along
We think we're fortresses, made of stone
But we're just palaces made out of flesh and bone
Waiting for our time to shine to come on home

Uh, yeah
Lord, please bless my palace of bones
My soul call my skeleton home, it's on the phone (Hello?)
Give the receiver back to Tyrone, we made a pact, nigga, I'm goin' back home (alright)
Yeah, pack my bags, stagger back to the zone
With a back full of daggers I've thrown
I'm like my own masochist, slash my wrist with a poem, and when I'm gone
Don't tamper with or sample my songs, unless you strong
Bicep emojis in the group chat
Five sets of burpees, don't disturb me if the booth black
I'm going through it, got a bunch of baggage on my roof rack
I have a lot of habits that produced that
They gon' put they tag on it, my condolences to the fast moments
Hope the solar system assist my slower mission and put some lag on it
Window to my soul, peering inside
The crib where my spirit resides, lyrics or die