Pretty Tax

[ Lyrics ]

Pretty tax — no one hears what I say.
 → finger snap + sub-click drop)

Sat in the back with my notes in hand,
said, 'What if we start with a dream, not a plan?'
Silence like glass, they nodded politely,
then *he* said the same thing at twenty past three.
'Genius,' someone called it, clapped him on the back,
I just tucked my pen in and kept my lips flat.
They love my aura, my 'calm, cool grace' —
but not one word lands unless it's on his face.

I’ve got ideas that don’t fit in small talk,
brains that don’t come in a beauty-shop box.
So I smile and nod, watch the words get reborn —
spoken by deeper voice, suddenly heard.

Pretty tax — no one hears what I say.
Smile’s too soft, voice must be a delay.
Pretty tax — ideas fade in the room,
unless they’re wrapped in a deeper tune.

Called me 'the vibe,' said I 'set the tone,'
but no one asked what I built on my own.
My pitch from last Tuesday? They greenlit his draft —
guess confidence sounds different when it’s shaped like a 'he.'
I wore the same jacket, same polished hair,
same fire inside, but no one felt the flare.
It’s not jealousy — it’s just straight fact:
they see the frame, not the art I attack.

I’ve got blueprints sketched in the margins of nights,
visions too sharp to be called 'just insights.'
But the door stays cracked, never thrown open wide —
unless there's a tie, and it's draped on a guy.

Pretty tax — no one hears what I say.
Smile’s too soft, voice must be a delay.
Pretty tax — ideas fade in the room,
unless they’re wrapped in a deeper tune.

I’m not asking for credit I didn’t earn —
I *built* this bridge before the fire turned.
So when he speaks my lines like they’re his own,
just know the crown I carry’s bone, not stone.

Pretty tax — no one hears what I say,
but I’ll say it louder every damn day.
Pretty tax — ideas burn in my chest,
and I’m done playing quiet, done second-best.

Pretty tax... 
But the mind’s mine. 
The mind’s mine.