Where faith, life, and lyrics meet…


Written by Da’Lux Blaze, Produced by Cordaro “Chrdz” Rodriguez, Recorded & Mixed by DJ D.Scott

Verse 1:

Never feelin’ at home like a foreigner
Waitin’ for his career to take off like LaGuardia
But his clothes stay marvelous, his gold gets gaudier
It’s like he’s tryna escape through his wardrobe like Narnia

He parties but it doesn’t fulfill his needs
He bet his whole life on this one silly scheme
Though it’s well-known the industry can kill your dreams
‘cause it can be more cutthroat than a guillotine

That’s the dead on, hard truth like rigormortis
Those A&R’s want hard proof like liquor stores
Now that might sound simple, sure,
but he’s got just one shot like a gun in the Civil War

He’s got just one shot like all the liquor’s poured
He’s got just one shot like a syringe is for
He’s got just one shot like it is the fourth
quarter and on the clock remains just one tick to score


Will you come home?
When you’re done roaming, homeless like a nomad
No “I-pad” like Microsoft

when the sun’s gone
and all is dark and all you sought has turned to naught
and it’s sub-par like it’s golf

Will you come home?
Know for sure there’s an open door. Run home before
the streetlight’s off

A love that’s unknown
awaits today. Since fame and things will fade away I pray
you see Christ’ cross

Verse 2:

The problem is not [that] he’s getting into showbiz
The problem he’s got is [that] he’s living for the moment
With limited focus his vision is honed in
Goin for broke, diving head first in the low end

Forget family – he’s so stuck on this notion
He ignores advice from his father and cries of his mama
His prime objective to blow up like explosions
sounds less like success, more like a suicide bomber

Yeah, it’s a do or die drama;
this foolish guy’s tryna live life like a rockstar.
Took dad’s retirement fund to finance his fun,
and by the time is he is done you’d think he was the top-dog

in his hot car. Never catch him in knock-offs;
jewel’ry’s designer, clothes – Gucci and Prada
Man, look at all those the groupies beside him
You can’t sleep on him – this dude is a “Monster”


Verse 3:

Please don’t believe this thing is genuine
It’s a con – Eddie Murphy in Distinguished Gentleman
Though he may floss, living “Fab” like “Loso”
it’s fake like weight loss “before and after” photos –

He’s not flexin’ himself. Nah, this kiddo’s spendin[
up his daddy’s wealth and not his own livin’
He left home to be like, “Here’s my demo, listen”
but the labels crushed his dreams quick like demolition

And when harsh reality collides with hope,
it can leave dreams shattered, a kaleidoscope
of a lotta broken bits of color.
and when his money ran out, so did all his lovers.

No one there to comfort, lonely he just suffers
homeless in the gutter, the loans have all but crushed him
Knowin’ he is busted and has no chance to last, he
“comes home” like Lassie or Shadow, Chance, and Sassy



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