There seems to be a draft
Staring at an empty canvas with a full pallet.
An empty stomach, insatiable thirst, almost romantic.
Honestly frantic, sort of lost my mind’s bandage, took it for granted, and now I’ve been relieved by a couple bandits.
Took it for granted, granted I never debated on losing that… whole debate with
it staring me in the face.
You might even nod and think that was some deep shit, but honestly said I needed something to rhyme it with.
My words touch you.
They buck at you, say they fuxx whichu.
My words they beef whichu, comfort you, even sleep whichu.
My words, my Lord, my words open no doors, but fights for a cause, wear a pink ribbon, speak for a cause.
Though I know actions speak, and words fall down dead in the street. Lay at your feet like Mary on the Son,
Wipe me down.
Clean me up, and make me up, for a crown I’m dying for….
Too bad words don’t open doors.
More than eloquence, I need some more.
I need some battering rams, some hammers, and some door jams. Some thumbs, told my will I am, Will I Am, brother here’s the plan, don’t phunk with my heart, like you’re Sam, the uncle, head of the clan.
And like damn man, jam man, turn the knob, locked man, locked in, blam man, dusty entrance, damn man
Damn man, damn man, that’s the point I’m making man, at a point where damn man, explains man its plain man…
A homicidal missile…
Suicidal I tell you…
Tell who what to do when the boogyman come for you.
Boogy who? Like an owl.
After this, hand me a towel. Standing on top of the world, I sat down to release my bowels, in synonyms antonyms, nouns, verbs, subjects and vowels. I power just like the tower, ipod, you recharge my power. Beats in my ears, its clear, this is the time and the hour, but sour lemonade in a cup will leave you locked out from luck, and from like, on hot day when the sun is cooking just right, ride off into the sunshine on that rinky dinkity bike. With no dignity intact, the seat burning your fragile ass, praying that this soon willl pass, but you ain’t Jesus my niga.
He prayed the same prayer
You ain’t Jesus my nigga, cause he hung with the worst of em, and he felt the pain of thirst with them. And there was no quenching, wan’t no breaks, no bemching them, but they broke there under the sun sipping sour lemonade.
And I know most of you are confused, so far in front I’m right behind you, trying to help you catch up, here’s the bun hun…
Don’t let them bind you, criticize constructively, don’t let it blimd you cause no one quenches thirst drinking sour lemonade. Everythings always better if you paid but losing sight of self is the price you pay.