After giving a passion-filled rant via Twitter (see below), Donald Glover let loose a dope track from his upcoming (and still untitled) mixtape.

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“Dear twitter people,
I don’t like talking…stand up’s different.
More like I don’t like explaining. I never feel like I’m saying what I wanna say or how I feel.
I’m sure even parts of this will be quoted and taken out of context
And people will be mad or talk shit but won’t read the whole thing cause, honestly, we’re all busy. I get it tho.
I think a lot people think I’m just doing shit to do shit. In a way, that’s true. But I like making things. I wanna do things well.
I’m learning music theory, and taking lessons. Learning languages so I can write in other languages. I love making stuff. I really do.
My boy Kendrick gives me props which is a really cool thing to do. Doesn’t need to do that at all, but he does cause he’s a good person.
He shouted me out at Coachella for making the beat for “Look out for Detox”
and I when I rapped over the beat at Coachella to bring him out, I saw people write “Childish, rips off Kendrick song”.
Not in comment sections where people say shit all the time, like in actual articles. Like journalists. Writers. It was weird.
I was in the studio with “B” and he was like “all the stuff on the internet about music, comedy, art, etc. is like parents
watching children play on a playground and being like ‘look at Susie sliding on that slide…what an idiot'”
I can’t sit down and talk to everyone about my beliefs, views, and intentions. I honestly would if I could.
Also see a lot of white peeps coming to the “defense” of black peeps because they
think I don’t like black people or myself, I guess? I really don’t get that. I don’t like that.
I’ve also seen people act like they know me. Talk about how I grew up and my shit is perfect.
And it’s true. I’m lucky. My parents were always there and were supportive for the shit I wanted to do. It’s dope.
but I’m from Decatur GA. Like, “The DEC”. In the projects. Moved to Stone Mountain later. My first recital was in South Dekalb Mall.
I lived on my grandma’s couch in the Bronx trying to pay her back for college.
Me, my father, my mother, my two sisters, and (at the time) 3 brothers split one bedroom for a while.
It feels like some sorta weird white overcompensation. Like when hipsters are like “Guess what…I hate Obama! That’s how unique I am”.
Like that Trayvon Martin line in EYV. I saw some white peeps get upset. Which was a little funny to me cause it felt like no one cared
about Oscar Grant or Kenneth Chamberlain or any of the other black kids shot in ATL or anywhere else when that shit happened.
I’m the one getting texts from my mom every time that shit happens. And that shit happens a lot.
Also, it wasn’t a joke. It was worldplay to highlight something that I thought was unfair.
But, if it was a joke, I get to do that. Cause that could’ve been me. I’m a black dude. I’ve had bullets whiz by me cause I look like me.
I get to deal with it the way I wanna deal. Cause it’s my deal.
People will hate me/ my shit, but post my shit cause they want the web hits, cuz fans follow it. And I’m really lucky to have fans like that
Mattafact, I wanna say thank you to fans. You guys are really the reason I’m even here or able to do this stuff.
I’m not bullshitting around. I don’t think I’m the best. I don’t think being the best comes from having a lot of money
or saying “I’m the best” all the time.
But I’m also not looking to be “some dude”. I don’t do anything hoping to end it with being “some dude”.
I don’t think anyone person on earth should strive to be “just some dude”.
I don’t wanna be that. Or a coward. Those are the worst things you could be.
Childish Gambino started as an inside joke that grew way faster than I ever thought it could.
When people come up to me and are like “this got me through chemo” or “I came out to my parents” off of Childish, I almost feel guilty.
Shit started as a joke, fun between writing with family and friends
But I kinda don’t have that scapegoat anymore…and I’m good with that. Word.
Here’s a start: “