The chosen one

Fitting that I never fit in, cause I never fit the image

There's too many clones out here trying to be a spitting image

The youngins be asking about my real age and the old heads tell me that I ain't vintage

I don't fit the mold so I was cast out of the village

Competing with myself now I can only scrimmage

The musicians tell me I ain't musical enough

And the poets tell me I got too much rhythm

Shout out the free thinkers who never bridge the gap

For every time I get told my poetry sounds more like rap

The fuck is that about?