You and me…we’re not dancing to the beat of the same drummer.
You’re still in to Bassa Nova, I’m in to crossin over into pop culture,
If knocked over, my clips clip wings good enough to stop vultures.
Iller off the top then most posters impersonatin lyricists,
Substitute in the family business, organizing dummies like mafia ventriloquists.
Stop it if you feel a bit…unable to comprehend the fables ur life’s made of.
Since the cradle the graves dug, shoulda never felt the need to play thug.
Six feet, ear to the ground never raised up till the trumpet is blown.
As of now…R.I.P, but as the days and time go by…status unknown.
Friends and family gone………….the badest in town hasn’t a home.
Back to the surface…………………the grind all but ceases to cease.
The color of black deepest in streets, mostly preaches the heat.
Never thinking to brethren better, only grieving the mothers waste,
Life is a ghetto not life in the ghetto cemented in nothing plaster and paste.
Consider it in best interest to be blessed and step in the confessional booth.
Look at the truth, separation is needed as humans evolved being better than you.