I’m just getting back.
Flipping that Motown into that Mitten rap.
No Mary Wells or Tammi Terrell,
just my train of thought that can’t be derailed. And none other than

the Funk Brothers and Marvin for a marvelous touch,
to add a little soul to the heart and the guts.
I was starting it up like the cars and the trucks.
Hungry. I said, "Man, you starving or what?"

American pie chart, started carving it up.
Battled my way to the top like I harbored a grudge.
The harder it was, the stronger it made me.
No longer it phased me. I often amaze me.

I was walking today, see. I’m just getting back.
I feel at home on the track, that’s where my head is at.
Home is not where the bed is at, to get exact.
Bet I battle the sickest rappers—they leave in a MEDEVAC.


I’m just getting back.
What’s happening, brother? Man, where you sitting at?
It’s been awhile. I’m just getting back.
What’s happening, brother? What’s happening?


I’m just getting back, though.
Flipping samples, so Vincent van Gogh
with “Starry Night.” I’m just getting back.
It’s like I never left, ‘cause I always write. Heh.

I’m just getting back at you, be
-cause you haven’t gotten a letter or package from me.
Actually, I’m just getting into it.
Third Eye to the Soul to let my vision intuit.

If you add Danny Brown, that’s three of four.
The last one is me, of course.
But on this, I’m just ripping raps
over the kick and hat, did the this and that, and mixed the tracks

just to show how I mastered this. That I’m this
passionate when I’m rapping in a gathering. “What’s happening?”
to those alongside for the long ride,
as I make my exit on the calm slide.


I’m just getting back.
What’s happening, brother? Man, where you sitting at?
It’s been awhile. I’m just getting back.
What’s happening, brother? What’s happening?