What’s he do—
hold your bag while you spin?
I clock in at midnight,
build empires from grit and skin.
I play in the dirt—
but I live like a king.
You thought I was broke…
that’s the funny part of the thing.
I let you believe it.
Let you feel big, real slick.
Truth is? Salary worth a quarter mil.
Stacked clean. Hits quick.
You traded fire for foam,
roar for a quiet room.
Left a man with a vision
for a boy with borrowed bloom.
Land in my name.
A boat where peace resides.
A home I built without your noise,
and wheels I drive with pride.
You wanted ease—
something soft, something tame.
You fled the forge
’cause you couldn’t handle flame.
So good luck catching up—
to what you never understood.
You left legacy for comfort,
and called the cowardice “good.”