The Journey Of Writing
Posted: Mon Jan 05, 2009 3:51 am
My soul burns, I prespire, the entire track
inside is the fire, I lack, when I rap
I try to retire, I am a liar, its wack
cuz when I am dope, I inspire, or so I hope
but then I choke, I'm tired of the jokes
this rope is wired to my throat, i need pliars
I'm close to the edge like a diver, but higher
all I desired is hedged on this led, every fiber
in my bones is dead, I've rolled off the ledge
its cold, I have bleed my soul, to this flow
this final, hole, I rest, sweat rolls from my chest
its time I fold, a controlled death, I hold
this pen close, no less than a few seconds left
but I catch a second breath, I have stole
I explode, I am meth, I'm unfroze from my desk
I rose, in effect I am though, so fresh
with flows, I project to reflect the complex prose
I sketch slow, as the flesh in my vessels
gets so hot, I connect my train of thought
like a tressel, I wrestle off my writers block
a fighter, who never lost, his will to fight
his skill tonight, is still a sight to see
to fulfill his life, he has to write this master piece
critics may lack, the capacity, to get their mind around
how naturally, I flow, I got my timing down
i show, audacity, without punchlines, I'm profound
so can you please pass to me, my rhyming crown
the amazing spectacular, flow creating, I hang with the mic
all night, the language I write, I blaze the vernacular
you can't be saved from the massacre, when I relay
this array of phrases, I escaped the basic matrix, I created
this place of distaste, a vacant waste, that i hate so much
a fake fate, a hollow space, I know its to late to touch, but
I want to go back to break the gates, escape its clutch
erase its face, the rust will be replaced with dust
make it bust with one thrust, struck with one cut
the case is shut, but I'm stuck, and on crutches again
I've had enough, just my luck, I'm always fucked in the end
but I'm up, I put my trust in the pen, yup
inside is the fire, I lack, when I rap
I try to retire, I am a liar, its wack
cuz when I am dope, I inspire, or so I hope
but then I choke, I'm tired of the jokes
this rope is wired to my throat, i need pliars
I'm close to the edge like a diver, but higher
all I desired is hedged on this led, every fiber
in my bones is dead, I've rolled off the ledge
its cold, I have bleed my soul, to this flow
this final, hole, I rest, sweat rolls from my chest
its time I fold, a controlled death, I hold
this pen close, no less than a few seconds left
but I catch a second breath, I have stole
I explode, I am meth, I'm unfroze from my desk
I rose, in effect I am though, so fresh
with flows, I project to reflect the complex prose
I sketch slow, as the flesh in my vessels
gets so hot, I connect my train of thought
like a tressel, I wrestle off my writers block
a fighter, who never lost, his will to fight
his skill tonight, is still a sight to see
to fulfill his life, he has to write this master piece
critics may lack, the capacity, to get their mind around
how naturally, I flow, I got my timing down
i show, audacity, without punchlines, I'm profound
so can you please pass to me, my rhyming crown
the amazing spectacular, flow creating, I hang with the mic
all night, the language I write, I blaze the vernacular
you can't be saved from the massacre, when I relay
this array of phrases, I escaped the basic matrix, I created
this place of distaste, a vacant waste, that i hate so much
a fake fate, a hollow space, I know its to late to touch, but
I want to go back to break the gates, escape its clutch
erase its face, the rust will be replaced with dust
make it bust with one thrust, struck with one cut
the case is shut, but I'm stuck, and on crutches again
I've had enough, just my luck, I'm always fucked in the end
but I'm up, I put my trust in the pen, yup