Dear Dyce Payso, 2Mar Ain’t Promise — But Your Voice Is by NWO Sparrow

Dear Dyce Payso, You Are Our Last Hope

There’s a weight that comes with growing up where funerals feel more common than birthdays, where tomorrow is never guaranteed, and where pain is often passed down like a family heirloom. When I saw the title of Dyce Payso’s upcoming album — 2Mar Ain’t Promise — I didn’t need a beat, a snippet, or a review to feel it. I already knew what it meant. It spoke to the kind of truth that lives in hood prayers, late-night hospital visits, and front-row seats at candlelight vigils. It’s a message that doesn’t just resonate , it haunts.

That’s why I wrote this letter. Not as a journalist. Not as a critic. But as someone who knows what it’s like to live on the edge of loss and still find strength to keep moving. I’m writing this because Dyce Payso’s voice , even before this album drops , is already serving as a vessel for the ones who feel forgotten. For the ones still trying to find purpose through pain. This letter is a thank you, a warning, and a reminder all at once: when real ones speak from the soul, we need to listen. Because 2Mar Ain’t Promise… but this message might just save somebody.

Dear Dyce Payso ,

You don’t know me , not personally. But I know you. I know you because I’ve buried homies who were one verse away from making it. I’ve sat in church basements watching mothers light candles for sons who never made it past 21. I’ve walked through hoods where the corner store felt more like a war zone than a safe place. And I know you because in the middle of all that, your name been ringing out like a prayer on a voicemail that never gets deleted.

2Mar Ain’t Promise , the second I saw that title, I knew this was bigger than rap. That’s a phrase we say when we’re tired. When we’re grieving. When we’re trying to hold on to something that makes sense while the world spins off its axis. You didn’t name this project for marketing. You named it for survival.

You see, for some of us, this ain’t music , it’s medicine. It’s scripture wrapped in 808s. And when I read through the tracklist , “No Fabrications,” “Heaven Knows,” “Still Hustlin’,” “Personal”, I didn’t even have to hear it to feel it. Because those titles aren’t just songs. They’re experiences. They’re what we say when the pastor ain't around and the rent’s due on Monday.

The fact that you brought in Jim Jones, Juelz Santana, Dave East, Ron Browz, Peezy , that tells me you’re not just chasing a feature. You’re building with men who understand what it means to carry pain in one hand and purpose in the other. That’s not clout. That’s calling.

You know what makes this album different? It's not just that you’re from the Bronx. It's that you’re of the Bronx. You sound like burnt buildings and summer block parties. Like lost brothers and midnight prayers. You’re proof that there’s poetry in pain and you’ve chosen to put it in rhyme so the next generation don’t gotta suffer in silence.

There’s a spiritual urgency to what you’re doing. And I mean that in the deepest way. You’re giving the hood something to believe in again. Not false hope. Not fantasy. But faith. Faith that someone like us can make it. That we can cry and still be strong. That we can lose people and still lead. That we can spit truth and still get played , not just on Spotify, but in the hearts of our people.

You said this album is for everybody grinding and pushing forward, knowing tomorrow ain’t promised. That hits harder than most understand. Because tomorrow ain’t promised. Not when your brother’s doing time. Not when your cousin just got shot. Not when your moms is tired and your pops is gone and the rent is three months late.

So I just wanna say thank you. For not giving us another dance record. For not watering it down. For putting your whole chest , your whole trauma , on the table and saying, “Here, this is what I got. I hope it helps somebody.”

Because we need that. We need you.

You’re not just an artist , you’re a vessel. A spiritual correspondent from the trenches. And this album? It might save lives. Not because of the beats (though I’m sure they slap). But because of the truth you’re brave enough to tell.

So wherever you are right now ,in a studio, on the block, at a show , I hope you know that you are being heard. Not by fans. By family. People who look at you and say, “That’s my story too.”

So keep writing. Keep rapping. Keep preaching.

Because Dyce Payso…You are seriously one of our last hopes in NYC.

— With love and respect,

NWO Sparrow

A voice from the same struggle

In a time when rap is often diluted by gimmicks, filters, and overnight fame, Dyce Payso reminds us what this culture was always meant to be: real stories, real stakes, real voices. Dyce Payso is carrying that torch with a heavy heart and a fearless pen.

So no, tomorrow ain’t promised. Not for me. Not for you. Not for Dyce. But if this album is what it feels like — a testimony wrapped in 808s and soul — then his message will outlive him. And that, right there, is what makes his pen eternal.

Check Out DYCE PAYSO - PAPER ROUTE REMIX (FEAT ALBEE AL & JIM JONES (OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO) here via Youtube

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