Talking to self inside the head, on whatsapp threads, and on paper beds . Holding a trade, in a file of red, to live a life on meds, belive, I see every shade. And my mind is fed up. The game's a trade off betwen Bread n butter and a dead future. Like the dreams are made up. Some real non neo ted talk. My tail's off. Neck's dreadlocked in sutures. Can't think and sleep clean Can't erase that bad trip , no . Don't need a piece of sheet to cover my guilt . No prize for being a peaceful piece of shit . No place in the game . No shame in it , no . But no pie for you yet my pet depression . I'll grow my stem longer and raise my bar . Elevate my name through Few scars to ascension . Till the height of my fame will choke you . supress you. Like shock you. Like you scissor my paper and I rock you . Like uncontrolled chaos with controlled aggression . You tailgatin' my truck and I fru*k you . Spit-fire ; spit-spit fire-fire !! #yqbaba #game #poem #ascension #life #honest #lost #ressurection
