born with a question, identity was left guessin'
how could God made me without the Lord's blessin'
why you figure that i would spout anger at the heavens
my skin brightens like the day glow, then darken about 7
the tale of two bloods, mixture of clashing titans
my mother, a former black panther, has a side of me fighting
while my father, Italy's finest, got my anger inviting
enticing victims to diner then stabbing strokes like lightning
who would ever thought that the two would cross paths
sip vino from the same glass, blend sweat on the same pad
from this unholy union, the spawn that both families shun
called "trick baby" and "moolyan", smiling like they finally won
thinking the best of me is like the rest of me, of weak stress
not realizing the strength given makes me care less
so i carelessly destruct structure like the crack epidemic
hide my face in shadows of hoodies praying for condemment
plus the aesthetic shock value of moving in many circles
creates a anathesiatic chant of words i recite in my verbals
so in a way my identity plays that of a waiting vulture
who pick clean the dead remnants of dispatching cultures
impacting ulcer i blend between the calm and the pain
intuitively sustain the presence by bombing against the grain
and answering the question without the Lord's Blessing
i was born without a soul, create for the Lord's testing
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