Friday, September 19, 2008


Seed of an absent father
Learned to strategize, play the game
Rather having it play me.
My poetic lines are similar to coke lines
Swimming in the addicts mind
Smoking a cigarette afterwards feeling fine

I breed wealth
My pen and pad reflects my health
I something wicked
Compared to no one else

Witness the fall of great men and women
So I roam alone
Seated at the right hand of my father
In search of my great Rome
Such horrific tales of young black males
I bring to the table
Shooting for fortune and fame, plus digital cable
A foolish American dream
However it's all mine.
Now, let's be real
Money, poetry, and rivalry make the world go round
Uneducated amateurs looking stuck
Unaware of what's about to go down
Don't get caught in the late night
Only thing roaming is addicts and goons
Stick-up kids ready to hit your set
Fork over the drugs…
Boom! Boom!

This life is wicked.
About-face from it.
Stay clear from these posers
Their lips are getting closer to that glass pipe
Just because you lift weight
Doesn't mean you're physically FIT to live my black life

Know who your friends are
Keep your enemies guessing; fools stressing.
The future is your hands
Ball them up and make a fist or extend a helping hand like this...