intuition

Intuition always given When-he-would-listen To_instrumentals He Considered it more of a Mental mission Young rapper Been put after Evil His rapping is Lethal Running on Diesel Next to Regal Only thing left is to thread the needle Once again Demons weasel into His Life One Night In the studio Sat down to write Someone left their pipe Their in plain sight Despite knowing he was sober, you can probably guess how the rest goes- -one hit and it’s over- If Addiction was a boulder It put him in a coma Almost a donor Intuition always given When-he-would-listen To_instrumentals He Considered it more of a Mental mission Not to be famous But the best ever mentioned Get-sentimental Over Lyrics scribbled He rapped so much he talked-in rap syllables Must have been subliminal He obsesses to-Be the best Wants nothing less then minimal Where talking critical Then by the grace of god A certain individual Pivotal to his to his inner-core An Idol he most adored Might-as-well-have-been at the front-door Wanted to meet in person Hear some verses Got me nervous Life finally turning From the worstest He had found a way To make funds To pay For food on the plate And the best part about that-is He can do it all rappin’ His biggest passion But nothing happened. Intuition always given When-he-would-listen To_instrumentals He Considered it more of a Mental mission dirty shirt on his back dirty slacks heading over to his contacts looking for fast-cash drugs_stuffed_in_a—-backpack- re-up at the crack-shack feens gotta have-that spotters looking for-that dispatch, quick hands, product disappear like quicksand. Don’t play him for a dummy He ain’t moving-next-to-nothing Enough-to-call-it-smuggling and throughout the country wrap stacks of money, BAG IT UP (bag it up) bag-it-up-back-at-the house hidden-throughout the walls, crawlspace, and attic Even the mattress, time to get back at-it early morning status directing whatever through the traffic druggies gotta habit. No, you couldn’t fathom all around my hometown Homies get around sunny-slope my neck of the woods where hoodlums crush hope with all that smoke that they choke-on pills that they croak-on Lives strive to survive with little faith to flow on in the days they grow strong stay sober for so long Then somethin’ go wrong they get involved, same clowns, same crowd they felt they always belong passing pipes off like batons, adding up to their own collage Of Bad calls, Thoughts of having a bad fall dusty dust off your saddle It’s addiction it’s a battle. Rattled like Mad Hatter Lost-it -off in his closet Smells like dog shit Can’t get it through his noggin CAUTION Intuition always given When-he-would-listen To_instrumentals He Considered it more of a Mental mission Pimpin this is g @rapfame_official