Nobody can know what I do when I go behind closed eyes
Nobody can take what I find when I fade behind closed eyes

When I close my eyes I fantasize about a future where the music I’m producing blares into the air
You can barely hear the cheering underneath the booming snare
Woofer on the stage blows bass like a tuba player
I wanna be regarded as a troubadour and rap a lot ‘till my catalogue is like a superstore
Plug me to a polygraph and prove it that the truth is here and watch me go harder than a man in a medusa stare
Woah, wait, Hold the phone
I belong on the cover of the rolling stone
a radioactive radio act
But these artificial art officials say that I’m wack
I mean, I want my tracks to have spins like the grand prix
But I can count on one hand the ones who understand me
I’m an autonomous author with uncommon concepts
When the populace is walking in a combolock step
What’s that? Nah! Toronto’s NOT dead.
I’m one of a league of necromancers
Wanna believe but get no answers
Top of the heap I set the standard
I’m fre-shhhh
Can you quiet down please?
So cold my entire town freeze
Or is it the Canadian breeze? Uhh…
Kool aid and frozen pizza
Spent my school days rapping to the crackle of a broken speaker and smoking reefer
I remember those stoner days
Nothing really seemed to motivate
And even though it made my grades lower
I laid lower in the grass than a mower blade
Had a toke and rapped while higher than an overpass
Realized I had to stay sober, go to class, it was going great
But anytime that growing pains took me
I got baked as a cookie and would go and play hookie
I would sit around asking things like
What will the critics think?
What will my daddy think?
What will the future bring?
I’m just imagining
My face on the cover of the rolling stone magazine

Nobody can know what I do when I go behind closed eyes
Nobody can take what I find when I fade behind closed eyes