I write for the movement the essence and the culture..
Let me dumb this poem down again for the critics and the vultures
Take your best shot even at point-blank-range
I don't need to re-introduce my self
You know my name

AHHH FUCK IT....

MY NAME IS BYRD.....
From the 3-1-7 Eastside of the NAP
Where I used to trap
Hustle and grind like your neighborhood hustla
Smoked more than your muffla
Get beside yourself I was known to shuffle ya
Homie I don't threaten folks, until I'm provoke
My father saw the knife I had at his throat
When he tried to choke my mother
So is the blood thicker than water
Or is it getting thinner within
This is the shape, made and model of your muthafucking KINGPIN.....
It's too much shit going on in my life for me to be fake
It's too much on my plate, so scrape off some food for thought
If you don't understand my views...home ya just lost

**I gave ya the glimpse of the first half of my life...now to bring ya up to speed

Everybody tells their story about how they made it from the gutter
Til get some money in their hands and turn to ungrateful muthafuckas
While I sat back trying to appreciate life
Or trying to appreciate one another
No kids...but I BIRTHED my lil brother
5 years later...
NAPTOWN see ya later
Time to BE ALL I CAN BE in this ARMY OF ONE
So I grow to be ARMY STRONG..
If you think this another sob-story...get your violins ready and play along
To this instrumental
Cus no matter what you say...YOU CAN'T FUCK WITH BYRD'S mental..
Now 12 years later...Byrd comes a gentle----men
Walk and talk with so much swaggedence
And if you can't comprehend...don't try to pretend to be my friend
Because I will cut you off and shut you down..
I'm a KINGPIN fuckers....you warned...
United States I'm here...GOODBYE...