The greed for green, that's the poetry that poets, poetically refuse to abuse, at least publicly.
Refuel, reenergize, and rewind
My third eye no longer blind
I'm going to unload what's exactly been on my mind
Abstract, top cat, white lines, all black
That's right, I'm back.
Violent adolescence
I can teach a few lessons
To those who grow up to throw up gang signs thinking its the "in thing"
until you're in things.
The guy who stabbed you is at your feet, or worse just a few feet away smiling
If you only knew that years from today how life would be; Would your decisions still lead you here
or would you have walked a different way?
or would you have walked a different way?
Now the opposite side of a barrel after you refuse to ride up on the ones that rode up on you is only one a breath away
I know a few alive who couldn't hear so felt, [imprisonment]
argued with God for the hand they were dealt
I just played better than most with the face of a poker champ
My camp, burned at nine, again at eleven
The short pieces of peace intercedes between twelve and fourteen
My best friend constantly, questioning about drug deals
because the apparel was more than appeal.
You know appearances are everything growing up I remember walking through red hook couldn't wait until I stepped into Fort Greene could only relax a block until my path was blocked at 14th I push a grown man on train tracks after he tried to grab my backpack
I got stories survival can only moralize
immortalized gang fight in Jr high left
more stories on me than any I could summarize.
The conclusion was, respect the game.
With almost perfect aim would have left me a heartless bloody mess
I could tell you about the homie
he, who Sha, not be named
who got us in deep luckily we had strong lungs and a rope to pull us back to shore, still to the lore of living on the violent side of the law shone brightly in him and he almost paid
dividends, body divided from spirit
Poured spirits when I heard he almost left the land of the living.
Cried when I witnessed how he hugged his baby sister,
And went silent a week later with the shooting of his mother.
The Chronicles of Lost Men in the Hood are chronic tales
repeat offenders, defending territory.
An innocent girl committed suicide for an unsanctioned pregnancy had to choose her baby or a family because he was a real nigga for one night but happily married for life.
She took her own. The father of her child was her father and he followed by his own hand after he had learned she left him on the earth alone.
You wanna know what real gangsta rap is about, take a trip to the ghettos of the cities full of tourist attractions, where wall street have two different faces,
What does your money pay for?
Witness what really happens.
Even local news wear bullet proof vest if you look close enough,
The chalk outlines are recycled,
The combination for tagged toes ran out long ago
There's now four, 967 John Does
The greed for green, that's the poetry that poets, poetically refuse to abuse, at least publicly.
Refuel, reenergize, and rewind
My third eye no longer blind
I'm going to unload what's exactly been on my mind
Abstract, top cat, white lines, all black
That's right, I'm back.
