i sit back, spit sick raps, and sip them heineken twistcaps
cruisin in a hatchback with rims the size of lids of trashcans
pass the blunt and the hasjbag i'll catch flashbacks
of 'virgin lungs filled up to a third with dust
fixing more joysticks than nerds from thrust'
used to be innocent now im more familair with hurt than love
a razor tongued angel with a dysfunctional halo
reactivation attempts, bathtub socket finger insertion
absurd but it resulted in hurtin and brain pain
im a lame saint, the glow is gone the same way
the hope is gone,and i trespassed the safe grounds,
played innocent till i got laughed at and faced frows
stuck in tight spot like laced goans
i want to break out, take the escape route
but i remain proud, only because:
no pain no gain, only suckers suicide on xanax
feed bitte[ Dit bericht is gewijzigd door op 16-10-2007 @ 20:33:36 ]
---------------------------------------- Ah, the Canibus Era, when men were men and rappers were nuclear warheads with twin lyrical Pentium chips. Lyrically.
-soul khan |