I first strolled onto the scene with clinched fists and grinding teeth, now I’m rolling off the walls like Ketamine, I’d like to represent a mezzanine because you know my mathematics are looking great, I’m not the king of the hill because I’m snoring on a mountain of fate ready to sedate motherfuckers with my mates, tell me about violence? I’ve been killing my liver for fifteen years
They wanted to name my book the Epitome of Hopes and Fears, and they wanted me to concede but I slit my wrist for the blood sweat and tears,
feeling like nobody cared so I wanted to make things happen. Pushing books out faster than the New Haven guns are clapping, Try to triple team the best, what’s happening?
But none of this is a game to me, I write masterpieces on the weekdays and spell out symphonies on the low end, I’m off putting and so is the sequence of tens of which my salary is set to begin, watching your mother fend for herself against some vicious dogs, I’m going to snatch that mink grab those pearls, bleeding on the edge of the world, sniffing so much blow that I think I’m the curl in the comma printed on my pay raise. Crime pays, because I’ve been robbing ambition since I first walked into the room, I know they got my back even in questionable situations
All hope died of asphyxiation but I didn’t even get my hands dirty, the prodigal son,
the name seems worthy. Can’t hurt me, or phase me, Took time to investigate the bullshit and this is my trophy. Used to wear a ski mask just to write a hit, now I know that the pen can be more than a grammatical weapon then the post pink slip
Born and Bred with a pistol in my mouth, I swear tears never streamed south. I have things lined up for the future, but the critics are to busy trying to open up my healed suture. Used to be loser, then became and monk and now I can crossover, jump over your head and slam dunk. Multiple bodies in the trunk with pencil wounds, your smell of success was years back and even then it stunk but now it’s rotting away.
On a day like today I’ve got life on a tray throwing up gang signs missing fingers, deformed ear, oh glad that you care. I thought you were to busy wrestling with your man teddy bear, and I stand sincere in front of you today, face painted with a vintage look of fear. And as the beat gets darker so does the horizon, so go and get it. Empty threats are your death, no matter how fresh I’ll put you to the test.
I hear them laughing as I wake up in hell, but I’m a chemical that doesn’t mix well, I’m perpendicular to the sickness…hell, parallel to whatever is left, I want to go ill and stand still, I never took my eyes away when I wasn’t the predator but the kill
Now I dance to an ominous tune, I’m the king of the hill, independent of the population’s unrealistic lust of the dollar bill,
I repudiate therapy and request for the snub to twist aside, I smile as the painful episodes subside, this is the season and I’m ready for war, but I have to stay alive as my mind contemplates treason, I continually attempt to outsmart reason
We swerve to the fast lane and the speed of sound stutters, we are raising prodigies
Brilliant oddities, In the distance you hear thunder, In my periphery, I sense wonder, like who is this bad ass nigga with all the thunder, will he conquer or blunder, Will he conquer or blunder? Or will all fall out off way as the new day starts to conjure sunrise, for your eyes only, we look at situations differently, because a lot of them end up quite homely. The biggest prophecy is to shoot you down where you are standing, Strawberry Grandin!