My Story Ends

My Story Ends

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#mystoryendsjbird // My backs to the wall Two capsules and a half swallowed With a splash swig and gulp Adderall, Can’t tell if it adds or subtracts anymore I’m too detached in this fog To give craps to this art I guess it’s back to the drawing board Before this last lego falls From this castle I sculpted I’ve done scrapped tooth and claw To surpass youth and soar to Cayuga, who thought it? Gap tooth and all But the fact to be honest, Is that I’m actually falling, I used to take tracks to the morgue Every time I’d rap to em I put the gas to the floor But if I’m honest - no cap till I’m bald I’ve been lacking the heart To give a half wit to bars I’d rather crash N get tossed Through this glass Theres no turning back… My backs to the wall… Since that kid was small Hearing that dribble drop From the faucet, I washed with And crawled under, balled up to Chicken scratch scribble draw Rap morphed those sad little arms Into monsterous jacked ones, with A sack n two balls That could salvage through loss And could slash and attack with — if you happened to want it It’s like his black and blue arms Poured out in a swarm like Yellow jackets or hornets To come after you, trauma… J Bird… Big bills, Tuscan Sam I use the pseudonym To conceal who I am — A Googleable hooligan Who don’t have to prove a damn thing, But I could fill a bazooka canon With a million in loot N shoot it Moonward man Without doing too much damage To my band width - get it l? Two cribs, full without A suit and pants gig yet I Took chances plenty Move chips into the ante betting And the demands are heavy I put that on my family every day But hey — my bank Pringles Except my chips stack passed the roof In every house and room So if I have one on my shoulder You’ll excuse the attitude I’m fricking surrounding, dude I think I’m finished with rap. Who am I kidding I’m still the no cap pen men Ship captain Whose finna Finna splat, prrrt-tit On a track Lyrical With or without written Mat-erial Till his last inhale N his caskets being, Dragged, dipped Or it crashes Big up to MacMiller But until that’s witnessed The business is back bitch Shout out to Erick and Parish Syllables stacked Still that cynical kid killing it Flipping the scripts Figurative Like pill dealers And that simile fits Like rivets in thin metal Cause he’s zipped With a lid sealed on his intense feelings Until this pen spills em Never been big in to tears But a pencil tip could easily Fill rivers with a Million thin scribbles I’ve been sinful since a youth Bit in the fruit still didn’t puke And for the record I don’t rap for a record deal I record rap records to deal with the truth.

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8 months ago

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8 months ago

Bars: Dope 🔥 Delivery: Dope 🔥 Impression: Dope 🔥

8 months ago

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