Self Analysis
I can be somewhat cynical.
Analytical to all surrounding actions...
While my attractions are the acrobatics of metaphors and words.
Unheard by many but that can't last forever...
Maybe it’s the way my words come together...
I'm determined to pull words like slot machines...
Making reality of dreams and visions...
But no one seems to listen unless the words are Jim Crow...
We refuse to grow like roses through concrete...
Words don't mean much on the streets, unless it has a banging ass beat...
Right???
See that's the problem with most nigga's...
All we know is cash, hoes, and triggers...
Big cars and homes...
Kings who've stepped off their thrones & and replaced them with shackles and chains...
Queens who rather be called bitches and hoes, rather than be called by their names...
What is to gain when the minds never change...?
We've become victims to the system, all from our actions, so how is the white man to blame...
Let that go.....
Black President or not, we know who remains on top...
Just look at the statistics, who's the ones still being shot....
We commit crimes amongst ourselves...
Fight the system and no one else...
And if our music can't make a change either...
Put that shit back on the shelf.... And just let it sit there....
Cause I don't care to hear the same things all the time...
Genocide lyrics placed in rhymes...
Stars refusing to shine...
No enlightenment of the minds....
Just the blind leading the blind...
Or at least the ones willing to follow....
If there is no change for today with our actions...
Who really cares for tomorrow....