I just feel like free styling, it's been a wee while since I've appealed to the lyrics spillin deep from my soul, never again do I waste time not working towards a goal, gonna grow till I grow old.
Hope to one day put on a show, look on till acid snow passes and burns away the grasses, till the summer is infinity, till winters never limiting, till the threat of global warming is no longer forewarning its something we're just living. So I keep spitting.
Im busting with the gifts I deserve to be giving, im spinning a web of artistry, I marvel at the cost of wishing I was starring in a show the whole world knows, also, indulging in forever flow, but instead Im starving going for a door that's heavily guarded
too far and over a tar pit, its the course of obstacles, I look back at lazy days prayin on a popsicle. Where everytime that I wanted to shine I thought I had time, never a bad time, callin on land lines, listenin to sublime, I thought that the band's fine.
Even as a child I sat down to write, never forget the first fiction, I won a fight. My imagination was endless as a kid, bendin the reality of life to my wishes, it didn't get me kisses. Good thing I picked a hobby worth grabbing as a youngin, Im lucky for my lack of luggage. Its out of chance I didn't lead a life of thuggin, harmony instead of strife and struggling. I was never bothered or suffered, I had a clever father, loving mother, they cared for me, sadly, not care for each other. Because of that my comedy repertoire is buffer.
I think that rap is healthy for the mind, I'm too kind, I try but it's hard to produce true rhymes, I refuse to abuse lies, have the blues but say I'm fine. Never losing if I pursue the best line.
It's chest time! I'm not going to the gym, Theres a reason for my treason, I wanna win, but stay thin. My brothers bother me, like gains are winning the lottery. My arms are not existing to impress with heavy lifting, I intend to create gems and gold, sifting just to find the coal.
Creativity is crazy, but production? Contradicting. If it's coming from some lobe deep inside my brain, ur gonna need to probe my lower lobe to see if theres a stain, where my hidden genius is stayin, if there's a couch on which he's layin, or if he sits there watching Netflix all day, ironic if he's wastin time, maybe he writes songs to sing while sitting watching stranger things?
But now my shift is over, time to go, I didn't write too slow, but later if I'm feelin crazy ill amaze thee with my blogger flow.
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