Yo, take it personal if you want... now check it! lol...
“As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death”, Nah I can’t write it down shit feels shallow in my chest, never felt it, never dealt it, couldn’t swallow the rest, just a concept that is borrowed, so I bow to confess//
Yo! I can’t write about it, tried to shout it, but I doubt it would amount to anything yet I aloud it//
tried to route it to a familiar perspective, but throughout it I felt distant, disrespected, by the mischief that I instantly had stepped in//
intersecting all my concept, and erecting all this nonsense, that’s affecting what my conscious, should be sending to my audience//
It's a message to my peers, but I’ve ventured man I’ve steered, where my essence disappears//
seen it clearly, my rap needs me, but I’ve turned my back; it’s easy…
Shit sounds slick when I be rapping, about stacking, like I’m really into traffic, like I’m really fucking packing, making spit sound really graphic//
it’s a hazard to my logic, but I cannot really dodge it//
cause the hype has fucking lodged it in my mind, too many signs, to indorse time, and force my rhymes, to sound like something that I’m sure I ain’t gon’ find, within experiences of mine, yo this a serious fucking crime, dawg I'm delirious I've appeared to cross the line//
Cause yo "I've sprayed on mad fucking snitches, I slay bad slutty bitches, plus I have all these riches", makes me laugh it's fictitious//
Man I hate it, I’ve created, fabricated fucking visions, time to raid a different mission, rhymes must taste true intuition, lines gon’ state the truth in diction, and that there ain’t fucking fiction…
Still I...... could paint a pictures that’s deep, could write a scripture bout streets, ad in a fixture of heat, but still this mixture ain’t shit//
if not reflecting my life, I’m done with lectures of strife, I’m not infested by knives//
guns, and drugs no more, lived in the slums I’ve seen tons of gore, have lived amongst the poor, the shit was once before//
but now it’s over, went from urban lands to suburbs, where the choppers do not hover, no more looking over shoulders…
Still, Mothafuckas obsessed with killing, while I’m chilling, revealing my true feelings//
not willing to spit hype, aight, that ain’t what everybody likes, must try and write, recite some different shit at the mic//
but yo for those that live it, and spit it, I’m giving props to your spirit, must give it up to your lyrics, cause even whack shit has merit//
Shit, But I won’t claim who and who is fake, just that the truth’s at stake, when one will use and make, some bullshit views and make, like it’s the truth they state//
Don’t get me wrong you can talk bout whatever, can rhyme on guns, honeys, drugs and the cheddar, go write “the slums” at the top as your header//
now if it’s truth, it’s truth, if it’s lie, then lie, I’m just stating what I’m facing; shit I cannot deny, which is why//
now I shout it, no more lies man I rout it, where my rhymes don’t get clouded, and I write all about it…
thanx for reading y'all... yeah I know... it was kinda long... but it had to be said... Peace
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