I got raps to flow, wraps to blow,
Criminal susio known to bag a ho,
Spilt a wig, empty clips,
Sixteen to zero,
Cats want to play supa hero,
I'll leave your body in your closet,
And stuff your head under your bureau,
Igot bloody dream, spend bloody cream,
Wash my cloths and still got bloody seams,
Your buddy seems,
Like he seen a ghost, scared 'cuz he seen the toast,
Barrel half way down his throat.
I'm the grimiest there ever is,
Made from the devil's ribs,
And still don't give a fuck who the devil is.
Disrespect and end up dead, more then not,
Where I come from,
Niggas get shot so much,
Survivers look like they got liver spots.
I'll take a walk, and holocost your block,
Like I'm a nazi and you some Jews,
I pray to tools, load'em up and prey on you.
I'm in a mind state of loney grace,
Load the clip, push that base,
Kid, so slow your pace,
I'll make your mother grieve,
Acheive my highest purpose, and make you bleed,
Becareful what you say to me,
I play my own game, by my own rules,
And kid, you don't want to play with me.
© Copyright 2016 Tyrone Slade. All rights reserved.
Poem / Religion and Spirituality
Poem / Memoir
Poem / Memoir
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