Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Me and the pen is like a meaning reprise... it's seen in my eyes... Deep, beady, disguised... which lies the evil demon that hides..




Still poor n' still broke... but there's still hope..
At least I'm still dope, come on...f'real, bro?
I'd kill for getting cash, I'm real grown..
I can feel home, right where I'm from... living, well furnished
but still fight like a bum..
That's trifling, son... your only height's the slum
from the Bodega's to ghettos, beggars who pop.... without the Wayans Brothers..
Yeah.... n' I serve without a paid Butler..
My DNA butter? sharper than the Blade Runner..
In my world, everyday summer...
In that grey Hummer H2... I get dug, I'm putting ye grave under...
That's why names wonder about me like i'm down in the county...
They now wanna clown me cause I'm from Canada, so I sound like a Mountie...
But my hunger like Beth Chapman, going down for a Bounty...
Calling Leland in like, "there he is on the screen again"...
Stand up, but you kids are stand up, like the comedian...
March of the Penguins, bring Morgan Freeman in..
Me and the pen is like a meaning reprise... it's seen in my eyes...
Deep, beady, disguised... which lies the evil demon that hides..
Another tortured soul on the portrait roll...
looking at you, seems forcible....that's something family courts should know..
Kids of failing relationships become troubled as teens
the government sees this phenomenon, but where's the common law?
It's like the teacher in the detention centre, nodding off...
And now? how can you help it? as far as they're concerned...
The world rejects them... instead of a connection, 15 years later
they're getting arrested, a product of real love that was never invested..

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