Hearts

If I run out of paper, I'll write thoughts on the walls.  I have the ceiling watching.  The whole building applauds.  I am a dream that an old man had back when we were slaves cause our skin was black.  He's sleeping on the floor... Dreaming of more, calling a stranger master.  Man, what a vain disaster.  He can't see his kids, that's because they sold his children!  Plus his wife is raped and beaten.  Just look at the food he's eating.  But he had a dream, like Martin Luther King, that I'd someday be great.  That I would Rapp and Sing.  And I'm doing my thing.  I ain't after the bling.  I ain't after the charts.  I'm after the HEARTS.