For my Grandma (2nd Re-Release)

My Grandma taught me everything i know, and one of the things she repeated often was, “Dont Take No shit from nobody.”

 

Painted a lullaby and the child inside wanted to cry, physical description to show how I’ll die, I’ll replace every swear with a bleep, clean up my act and pledge in some prayers that my soul is for god to keep, fake like I’m indebted to religion, indentured to some sort of spiritual beginning. Buts its my Grandma who I’m owing, Edwina the Queen, I’m not going to fake like I have a hard gangster lean, but my family started the new haven scene, it was 1950s, travel back in time to get the definition of mean

 

A Clip of even numbers in my umbrella, alphabet cars painted blue, red, and vanilla, switched from acting hard to a pink hat like DJ Yella, and now I have a hell of a smell, for the misery, and the pain, I threw myself into rehabilitation with nothing to lose and  nothing to gain. I held pictures of my grandma to keep from going completely insane, shot caller in a mental institution sporting a benzodiazepine gleam from a whole different lane, I conquered my demons but I made it look plain.

 

That place erased all restrictions and moral, Desensitized to the violence but I can’t write raps about slinging Cristal , I can only embrace my Grandparents as my two best pals, the hate almost derailed my voyage home and I fucked up the tall roadblocks to the height of a gnome. I think about days sitting in room with blood dripping, I was crying all alone. If you had my genetics or looked through my eyes, why would you worry about dying when you roll the dice, Grandson of a Queen so why would I never not rise, blessed to be able to observe the stars, I can upgrade my home and crash a fast car. Through all my success my Gran will never go too far from my heart, sprinkle cigarette ashes on the daily depart

 

 

 

And with all this debauchery, some of us chose to go on and on about pubescent philosophy

 

And this is the plight of the living dead, verbatim is a death sentence so never quote what I said, now I’m reminiscing about the days when I didn’t have two thousand fans and the potential to publish a revolution right at my hands. Gil Scott Heron would be proud, passed down the asterisk and the slant, Black Panthers are gone but now I’m the man

 

Kool G Rap was on the edge of sanity, and now I sit back judging this calamity, the town is overflowing with drugs and prostitution to bring the grit to reality, calling out losers is just a formality, to win is like spewing debonair profanity and I’m crushing a hyped house of shit and I’m not talking about Amity, disturbing the peace to the metal of the wood and drawers that are shitty, I was bred in the underbelly of a ugly city, I’ve got the lock on the these other skinny cats, can’t touch me or the way I’m shitting facts

 

So fuck copyright, Fuck Rights and Motherfuck the peace, I’m the man behind the book taking a stance. My message contradicts my sickness, decided the winner early to add some speed and art to my hit list, who rhymes like this spitting in tongues with such quickness, I’ll bomb the world with mediocre physical fitness, I got this world on Lockdown and I see the horizon with my grandma as my witness. There were three sides to the story so when I finished my 180 degree spin, I contemplated solving the triangular equation before I’d begin, It is my pain that suggests suicide before  I win. I always worked to keep my mind, but god decided to not include me in the general population of mankind.

 

I got my butter from Calcutta without a pot to piss, can’t see me in a decade with a shiny gold wrist then I’ll help you see the future with an optometrist. Spat lines of ill shit with a major lisp, economist had me in the front sea while I sat back with a morphine drip, then I flipped and moderately constricted the script, I wrote this little book and promised my grandma I’d never ever slip, having my family in my heart with keep me from injury during my ego trip.

 

Maniacal motherfucker for goodness sake, I don’t wake and bake, and I hate and fake, like I don’t wake and pop, even with the world spinning around me I’ll never stop.

 

 

 

You can’t put a number next to my name, take a life from my surplus because I live life like a game, KKK stopped us in our car and I swear we never changed lanes, my grandma passed down BDI, Black Determined and Insane, I’m an abomination and a lion so ill slap you even if you think it’ll be easy for me to be tamed. I’m not the warm hearted boy I was raised to be

For my Grandmother <3

My Grandma taught me everything i know, and one of the things she repeated often was, “Dont Take No shit from nobody.”

 

Painted a lullaby and the child inside wanted to cry, physical description to show how I’ll die, I’ll replace every swear with a bleep, clean up my act and pledge in some prayers that my soul is for god to keep, fake like I’m indebted to religion, indentured to some sort of spiritual beginning. Buts its my Grandma who I’m owing, Edwina the Queen, I’m not going to fake like I have a hard gangster lean, but my family started the new haven scene, it was 1950s, travel back in time to get the definition of mean

 

A Clip of even numbers in my umbrella, alphabet cars painted blue, red, and vanilla, switched from acting hard to a pink hat like DJ Yella, and now I have a hell of a smell, for the misery, and the pain, I threw myself into rehabilitation with nothing to lose and  nothing to gain. I held pictures of my grandma to keep from going completely insane, shot caller in a mental institution sporting a benzodiazepine gleam from a whole different lane, I conquered my demons but I made it look plain.

 

That place erased all restrictions and moral, Desensitized to the violence but I can’t write raps about slinging Cristal , I can only embrace my Grandparents as my two best pals, the hate almost derailed my voyage home and I fucked up the tall roadblocks to the height of a gnome. I think about days sitting in room with blood dripping, I was crying all alone. If you had my genetics or looked through my eyes, why would you worry about dying when you roll the dice, Grandson of a Queen so why would I never not rise, blessed to be able to observe the stars, I can upgrade my home and crash a fast car. Through all my success my Gran will never go too far from my heart, sprinkle cigarette ashes on the daily depart

 

 

 

And with all this debauchery, some of us chose to go on and on about pubescent philosophy

 

And this is the plight of the living dead, verbatim is a death sentence so never quote what I said, now I’m reminiscing about the days when I didn’t have two thousand fans and the potential to publish a revolution right at my hands. Gil Scott Heron would be proud, passed down the asterisk and the slant, Black Panthers are gone but now I’m the man

 

Kool G Rap was on the edge of sanity, and now I sit back judging this calamity, the town is overflowing with drugs and prostitution to bring the grit to reality, calling out losers is just a formality, to win is like spewing debonair profanity and I’m crushing a hyped house of shit and I’m not talking about Amity, disturbing the peace to the metal of the wood and drawers that are shitty, I was bred in the underbelly of a ugly city, I’ve got the lock on the these other skinny cats, can’t touch me or the way I’m shitting facts

 

So fuck copyright, Fuck Rights and Motherfuck the peace, I’m the man behind the book taking a stance. My message contradicts my sickness, decided the winner early to add some speed and art to my hit list, who rhymes like this spitting in tongues with such quickness, I’ll bomb the world with mediocre physical fitness, I got this world on Lockdown and I see the horizon with my grandma as my witness. There were three sides to the story so when I finished my 180 degree spin, I contemplated solving the triangular equation before I’d begin, It is my pain that suggests suicide before  I win. I always worked to keep my mind, but god decided to not include me in the general population of mankind.

 

I got my butter from Calcutta without a pot to piss, can’t see me in a decade with a shiny gold wrist then I’ll help you see the future with an optometrist. Spat lines of ill shit with a major lisp, economist had me in the front sea while I sat back with a morphine drip, then I flipped and moderately constricted the script, I wrote this little book and promised my grandma I’d never ever slip, having my family in my heart with keep me from injury during my ego trip.

 

Maniacal motherfucker for goodness sake, I don’t wake and bake, and I hate and fake, like I don’t wake and pop, even with the world spinning around me I’ll never stop.

 

 

 

You can’t put a number next to my name, take a life from my surplus because I live life like a game, KKK stopped us in our car and I swear we never changed lanes, my grandma passed down BDI, Black Determined and Insane, I’m an abomination and a lion so ill slap you even if you think it’ll be easy for me to be tamed. Motherfuckers live in fairytales, but painkillers are my Aladdin, and I’m a variation you wish you’d never see, I’m not the warm hearted boy I was raised to beImage