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WHO'S IN THE MUSIC? lyrics
Artist-supplied lyric sheet, matched by title. The sheet may differ from this released performance. Production notes and alternate promotional cuts are omitted.
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Intro
Before the face. Before the fame. Somebody had to say their name.
Verse 1
Sedgwick heat, red milk crate, park cord through the gate, two decks, one break, whole block kept the date. Rent note by the stove, joke smoke in the hall, blue lights crossed the kick; kids danced through it all. Bronx mics made the front stoop national news, no press badge, just breath, cheap wire, scuffed shoes. A black target on a chest made the White House blink; five mouths out of Compton put the nightstick in the ink. Bed-Stuy, one room, big dreams crowd the plate; Clinton Hill heard the laugh before the world heard the weight. Harlem birth, Panther blood, two tears in the threat, one chest held the rage and the mother's regret. No myth yet - just names, bus routes, rent, and weather; the tighter each life got, the more we fit together. The lens moved close enough to catch breath on the wall. One voice lost its shield and got heard by us all.
Chorus 1
Who's in the music now? Is it a voice or a costume? Who's in the music now? Stop scrolling, let the human come through Who's in the music now? More soul not just something loud Who's in the music now? Who's in the music?
Verse 2
Eight Mile, cracked tile, court light in the snow, a pale kid put his whole house where the whole world could go. South Side, pink polo, soul cut under drums, faith sat beside debt; doubt made the backbeat hum. Rosecrans, borrowed van, red light in the mirror, danger got a camera; every bad choice sounded nearer. Forest Hills, no guest list, one address on the sleeve, a plain door went platinum; no guest came with the key. Houston grandchild drew a park from an old promise made, neon bent the family oath through a psychedelic haze. Then Chicago bedrooms filled with freestyles after dark; Broward County face ink put a scream inside the art. Pennsylvania pink hair sang the thoughts that would not sleep; SoundCloud held the cuts the daylight could not keep. New drums, new clothes, but the fingerprints stayed in: we pressed play for the sound, then found a person within.
Chorus 2
Who's in the music now? Is it a voice or a costume? Who's in the music now? Stop scrolling, let the human come through Who's in the music now? More soul not just something loud Who's in the music now? Who's in the music?
Verse 3
March doors locked; phone glow turned the bed into a stage, fifteen seconds paid the rent, then fenced the next page. Atlanta vamp, black cloth, red signs in the feed, fans learned every shadow; no daylight did they need. Twitch booth, quick joke, chat filled up with W's; the clip left with the voice, not the bruise it traveled through. TikTok cut truth for a quote; grief got dressed for a trend; an ordinary Tuesday could not hold them to the end. Still, a syrup-slow Chicago throat keeps counting pill costs; an L.A. rebel changes skin, never loses the pulse. One lets the wound stay named; one lets the costume spin; both leave one warm fingerprint on every world they're in. I called the mask the problem, blamed the feed and all its tricks, while my own thumb skipped a stranger just to get back to the kick. He said, "I don't sleep" - then the notification rang. The old park crowd came back as a chime inside my hand.
Chorus
Who's in the music now? Is it a voice or a costume? Who's in the music now? Stop scrolling, let the human come through
Outro
Who's in the music?
Inside the recording
Before the face. Before the fame. Somebody had to say their name.
Who's in the music now? Is it a voice or a costume?
Who's in the music?
Excerpts from artist-supplied lyric files matched by title. Lyric sheets may differ from the released performance.