This is just a spoken word piece I haven't finished writing yet, I'm hoping it'll turn out well and won't go over too many heads
I must concede that I am a product of my environment
And as a product, I am susceptible to being sold
To having the sole purpose of my being, being ruptured from my soul
Got me running with my feet blackened, callouses on my soles
So if I fall, it's proper you call the doctor...scholls
My mind no longer whole, its been perforated with holes
Now...Though I don't claim to BE a son of god
you might believe it yourself, were you to spectate me at my job
Where they often treat me like I'm their...profit
Of which I imply, the kind thats crucified and hung to dry
Let me clarify that this is not a matter of faith
For politics have blinded vision, and do not cater towards religion
Got me feeling like a....serf, but I've never been on a wave
So should I waive all of my doubts, and work at minimum wage
or wage war against the unjust who believe "For justice" means 'Just us'
Criticize me if you must, but I must speak from where my heart is
Part of it is catharsis, the part that rests on my chest
and the rest, well...I'm just giving you realness
Yall mourn and say 'get well', but don't do shit for the illness
Some would call me an artist, others call me a stark raving,
dark, raging, narc taking, asylum patient partaking in propaganda
They say what can YOU do to change the world, I barked "save it"
If you wonder why these occupy protests
Fail to hit a nerve with the government, I would suggest
The ventures of martin luther
would've never had success without the threat of malcolm x
A proverbial cowboy, I won't conform to this cult
Perhaps I would be considered more adorned with a colt
So try to knock me off my high horse, by force
I'll spray a round from a colt
Spoken Word
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- Leeroy Jenkins
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Spoken Word
Last edited by Leeroy Jenkins on Sat Jan 21, 2012 5:12 pm, edited 8 times in total.
My psychologist tells me that I suffer from serious delusions of sexual grandeur. I think she just wants to fuck me
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