http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/showthread.php?t=160947
http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/showthread.php?t=157845
dear son,
today i quit my job, and left you some information in my office,
but here's a letter and i'm sorry, for my alcoholic problems.
collage of clandestine and awkward approaches
of the time we've spent together, n broken promises.
see i'm borrowed off of time, n my tab is passed it's limits,
i'm sorry for the lies, n the "i-don't-give-a-shit-dad" image.
see now i just want'chu to remember, that everybody's a critic,
n it's gonna make you sick how everybody is everybody's business.
shit the love for money's a sickness, this whole world is infected,
and i use drugs for an anectdote, i suggest you learn from my lessons.
see these days i'm hurting mentally, so grey is my sorrow,
overplayed and dispositioned within this overcast tomorrow.
i'm never sober, never loyal, but here's a letter and i'm sorry,
for noticing you hardly, for choking on my word and partially
if i was heartly at all, a father to you my child,
i'm sorry i never bothered you with life and it's styles.
but my lifestyle is not style for my child's, just do shit
the way you do shit, n whatever yer doin', make it music.
my whole life i've been useless, a has-been the minute i was born,
n i gave you the wrong image of ya moms...she only exist for whore'n.
the storm is increasing in it's rain poor, my pain is a stain of memories,
so fucked up to talk about that when they walk around....
............it feels like centipedes.
life is too real, i say that discreetly cuz life be eat'n some people,
n i've been beat'n by police, say'n i done seen justice's evil.
i can't keep still without medication, i've created a sanctum
in synthetic surrealism, living in destination to fall like a nation
that hasn't a real image, unforgivin accelerate'n in all of my tainted
needs, last night i saw you blaze'n some weed, that shit is overrated,
say'n it's ok with me, but be forwarned don't take it further,
any man-made dream is furtively in sequence a murder.
believe it'll hurt'cha, i know it nurtures your stress,
but cocaine is the same as saying a beginning to yer end.
yer head can get twisted, you can't live off hopes and wishes,
so lonesome, i wish this shit was over, but nope, existence
is persistant on a soul, these city streets is shitty, we've
helf off for too long, it's such a pitty to see these
kids in disbelief and do wrong, you can't imagine
how fast shit hits the fan until it happens,
n you can't imagine how much damage i've endured,
n you can't imagine how much madness makes the earth.
i just wish i had some space, some space to call my own,
n i just wish i had a face, a face that i could know,
or perhaps a conscience with more insight than it's drugs,
only if you could feel the weight of my problems above
the area where i burried my love, the pressure jus' sucks,
but here's a letter and i'm sorry my son...
i'm sorry for the physical abuse,
n i'm sorry for wait'n to send ya to school,
say'n i'm sorry for my problem with booze,
i'm sorry for the enviornment in which you've grew,
i'm sorry for givin any influence in you,
but most of all i'm sorry...
that this letter is the best i can do.
but'cha have'ta understand, i'm a man without the pieces to his puzzle,
n you have to understand, my trials and tribulations, these troubles
have become more than just a nuisance, it's fire that never settles
a disheveled piece of mind dealing with it's devils.
an amount of pressure so unlevel the stress doubts
my sanity, an unmeasurable count of depressed sounds
heard passing me, and it's heard passing the battles
i shadow in grief... flipping at high speed lateral.
i don't know if i really even matter to you?
but i guess one thing's for sure...
well, nevermind, that probly doesn't really matter to you.
i guess i just want'chu to know i have love for you, it's true,
but these needles have carried me through an era of blues,
n my errors didn't start with this weed, it was the coke, heroin n booze,
i was an arrogant youth, never learned on what and what not to do.
shit a step in my shoes is like steppin into an arrested
development of indirected trials on truth, don't think
i'm just jabber'n on, there's a reason for each thing
that i'm baffling on, cuz see you might not see me after this,
probly won't be able to speak...actually i'm not sure if you've met me yet?
besides, face to face you'd just see the lies designed upon my teeth,
especially when my copenhagen infected jaw tries to eat.
it's like damn, where has all the life gone, i can't better the love,
i know i can't better from drugs...but here's a letter n i'm sorry my son...
i'm sorry for the physical abuse,
n i'm sorry for wait'n to send ya to school,
say'n i'm sorry for my problem with booze,
i'm sorry for the enviornment in which you've grew,
i'm sorry for givin any influence in you,
but most of all i'm sorry...
that this letter is the best i can do. (2x)
n i'm sorry...that this letter is the best i can do.
p.s.
n don't stress, none of this should change the way you live,
n yer lil'sis is in her crib...
...i'm right outside the window... hanging on a limb.
