Prolific_1011
03-27-06, 06:20 PM
my poetry takes me to places like a magical dream
its my inspiration to plot radical schemes...
of lazer beams aimed at infamous streets filled wit diligent fiends,
killahs and thieves, where cats bust shots at bus stops to conquer the beast
by any means ima conquer peace
ive seen what happens... when im able to achieve and establish...
visions of poets and stoics who practice poetical tactics
stay focused, keep my ears open to the most wise and oldest...
souls who be roamin the globe wit scrolls hopin to grow...
mentally, the mic is my legacy, my destiny that gets the best of me
i composed recipes for remedies to cure dark and obscure tendencies
from M.I. to africa...no emcees matching my calibur... or pedigree,
i scorn and torch enemies with the force sent to me... from a higher form...of energy
the mic is the centerpiece to my words which gave birth...
to hope like a slaves thirst to cope wit days cursed and those...
who view blood as a way to flood emotions that range...
from anger to pain, son im neither captured or chained
i master my ways and bring laughter to pain
i pray...to angels wit halos and wings, yeah its painful to think...
how wasted talent erases the basics and enhances the chances to sink
i once met an old man whose whole plan was to inspire
i spit flows that haunt foes...call me the ghost...writer
through the fire, i seen people cry, watered eyes shine like the darkened sky...
illuminated by the moon, tears are the cloud wit precipitated truth
peace to the youth, i spit chapters from books by makavelli the prince
since... an early age, i clutched the pen and the ways of the world changed
i carry the roc and just blaze thru obstacles seeming impossible,
lord, im willing to honor you...
for infinie days till i spray wisdom in numerous ways
to the few that relate...stay strong like troops in the way of bullets that stray
yo, as artist, we paint pictures that tell a million stories
i reach the masses as camera-flashes brighten my actions for me
poorly...constructed verses bore me, rhymes wit signs of worthless poetry...
are like dreaming wit visions of livin horribly
but i want the royalty, loyalty plus a rosary to console me
i stay low key on my way to glory, so dont act like you know me
because we born free...doesnt mean life will be storm free
rain drops wont make the pain stop till we restore peace
the lightning and slight breeze on high trees remind me of poor streets
the mic and i shall rise in holy matrimony, till death do us part homie
yeah its hectic, chaos reflected on ccn like capone and nore
to the most glory...i thank you
i was granted the gift, so im guided by whaterver the pen do
we all gods creatures, so god bless you when i test you wit ether
good and evil forces keep the earth ballanced
and so... it becomes a challenge to manage fractions...
of a mind consumed by subliminal rhymes
we livin during critical times
it was all predicted, inscripted by biblical tribes
son, im one of a kind, one of my rhymes shine through redefined skies...
where prophets elevate, they grab the world wit a clutch of a fist and set it straight
(pause)
i stepped away from the mic, but im back on the grind tryna capitalize...
the black in my eyes means im focused and back wit a mic to put cats back in a line
im a poet, like soldiers strapped wit a nine, im strapped wit a rhyme...
that'll send chills down half of your spine
to be continued...
one
:king:
its my inspiration to plot radical schemes...
of lazer beams aimed at infamous streets filled wit diligent fiends,
killahs and thieves, where cats bust shots at bus stops to conquer the beast
by any means ima conquer peace
ive seen what happens... when im able to achieve and establish...
visions of poets and stoics who practice poetical tactics
stay focused, keep my ears open to the most wise and oldest...
souls who be roamin the globe wit scrolls hopin to grow...
mentally, the mic is my legacy, my destiny that gets the best of me
i composed recipes for remedies to cure dark and obscure tendencies
from M.I. to africa...no emcees matching my calibur... or pedigree,
i scorn and torch enemies with the force sent to me... from a higher form...of energy
the mic is the centerpiece to my words which gave birth...
to hope like a slaves thirst to cope wit days cursed and those...
who view blood as a way to flood emotions that range...
from anger to pain, son im neither captured or chained
i master my ways and bring laughter to pain
i pray...to angels wit halos and wings, yeah its painful to think...
how wasted talent erases the basics and enhances the chances to sink
i once met an old man whose whole plan was to inspire
i spit flows that haunt foes...call me the ghost...writer
through the fire, i seen people cry, watered eyes shine like the darkened sky...
illuminated by the moon, tears are the cloud wit precipitated truth
peace to the youth, i spit chapters from books by makavelli the prince
since... an early age, i clutched the pen and the ways of the world changed
i carry the roc and just blaze thru obstacles seeming impossible,
lord, im willing to honor you...
for infinie days till i spray wisdom in numerous ways
to the few that relate...stay strong like troops in the way of bullets that stray
yo, as artist, we paint pictures that tell a million stories
i reach the masses as camera-flashes brighten my actions for me
poorly...constructed verses bore me, rhymes wit signs of worthless poetry...
are like dreaming wit visions of livin horribly
but i want the royalty, loyalty plus a rosary to console me
i stay low key on my way to glory, so dont act like you know me
because we born free...doesnt mean life will be storm free
rain drops wont make the pain stop till we restore peace
the lightning and slight breeze on high trees remind me of poor streets
the mic and i shall rise in holy matrimony, till death do us part homie
yeah its hectic, chaos reflected on ccn like capone and nore
to the most glory...i thank you
i was granted the gift, so im guided by whaterver the pen do
we all gods creatures, so god bless you when i test you wit ether
good and evil forces keep the earth ballanced
and so... it becomes a challenge to manage fractions...
of a mind consumed by subliminal rhymes
we livin during critical times
it was all predicted, inscripted by biblical tribes
son, im one of a kind, one of my rhymes shine through redefined skies...
where prophets elevate, they grab the world wit a clutch of a fist and set it straight
(pause)
i stepped away from the mic, but im back on the grind tryna capitalize...
the black in my eyes means im focused and back wit a mic to put cats back in a line
im a poet, like soldiers strapped wit a nine, im strapped wit a rhyme...
that'll send chills down half of your spine
to be continued...
one
:king: