That was me and PK on Atlantic.
Never looked both ways, ran in traffic.
Pops went away, but I stayed vagrant.
Place where the steel and cement became nature.
Love what you did with the place,
it looks gorgeous.
City scape where the blood of good men courses.
And the dreamers are bull trapped in porcelain.
Take a knee to the gods and get horseshit.
Wanna live for the thrill, they'll arrange it.
Got up every imp to spit hatred.
Go get in your head and cause panic.
Hyped you desperately, begging to get famous.
Get your dignity dirty and left orphaned.
Sanity on the fringe of distorted.
Who are they that just takes you and hoard it?
Who am I that I don't get my portion?
The most impressionable minds get molested
and informed by manipulating forces.
Don't fret, little man, don't pride.
They can never take the energy inside you were born with.
Knowing that, understand you can never be poor.
You already won the war, you were born rich.
You can only take the energy you have going back
to the ground where the home of your lord is.
Whoever,
whatever that lord is,
couldn't give a * if you ever made fortunes.
Anyone ever trying to run that pump,
sent into the flames where the orcs live.
Him and the lost minds thinking they're smarter
than us don't understand love's importance.
And we can weaponize that,
bring her back to the truth where the ashes and dust got formed in.
The
beat breaks and your teeth break.
Keep your canines embedded in my knuckles as a keepsake.
It was seeing your veneers,
just mere souvenirs falling out your mouth and onto the landscape.
Me and L.P.
do the secret handshake.
Then I pummel punch a pumpkin head,
* in his pimple face till he blush
drunk cause he sweet as a pound cake.
And he pushed my gear,
I'll say,
into the wild,
wild style,
ghetto child running wild.
Where the lions and the owls stay.
The powers that be even offered up a breeze,
told us they'll take us out if we bow to our knees.
But they can give that to the kings
and the queens and the worshipers,
the idols and followers of themes.
Cause I would rather be in the jungle with the savages.
Kill or be killed and I'm working with the averages.
My professor emeritus say we've been
cursed being brought to the Americas.
How you raise a whole human single parent,
no marriages,
no sense of heritage.
Planned parenthood,
helping plan miscarriages,
but I'm lucky mommy already had a narrative.
Product of a teenage love,
my arrogance arise from the pride in the job my parents did.
Name Mike,
I was told it was godlike,
even dance with the devil came out alright.
Okay, honor y'all, no way.
Still spell America with the triple K.
Word up to Spice 1 and O'Shea.
And in the MC kicking what I go through.
Real rap, my last line so true.
Rest in peace to Pimp C and Kamu 2.