| I feel a weight that's pulling me down, | |
| But my reflex is to try to break out, | |
| Nature gives fight or flight syndrome, | |
| But my feet stay on the ground that's how i've grown, | |
| Bred to resist the gravity of anything that's fucking with me, | |
| Survivalist instincts through my veins are pounding, | |
| Transfused at birth by my urban surroundings. | |
| Gravity won't allow me to fly, | |
| It pulls me down, the pain, i won't cry, | |
| Resistance and drive fueled by hunger, | |
| What doesn't kill me makes me stronger. | |
| I just can't let shit get to me, | |
| Got to reflect back on what pop taught me, | |
| To be your own man no matter what, | |
| To never back down, and follow your gut, | |
| Instinct, something he said that i'd know, | |
| Something that i'd carry wherever i go, | |
| He told me someday i'd have to fight to be free, | |
| And resist the weight of gravity. | |
| Calloused hands wipe away tears, | |
| Of the pain of a man broken by years, | |
| A silent shot that nobody hears, | |
| A smoking gun of our own fears, | |
| My father worked all his life and for what, | |
| Day in, day out, caught in a rut, | |
| The pain of apathy, razor-sharp cutting, | |
| But i'll make sure he doesn't die for nothing. |
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