I'm just writing because I haven't written in a while
Lately words have left a bad taste in my mouth, real bitter without a smile
Usually I place letters together that sing a bunch of magnificent things
Like my moms macroni and cheese, or the those crunchy fried chicken wings
See how short and simple my bland words have become
Maybe I should send up Indian smoke signals, or beat on an African drum
Crying out from my writes that are drying out
Praying for the rain to quench parched, tasteless words
Or start speaking gerber gargled goo-ishness, or something else absurd
I tied my words to train tracks, hoping that in fear they'd make sense
Even fed some to viscious pitt-bulls, locking on verbs, making syllables past-tense
Once I got them high off crack, so they could recover and make a come-back
Sat them in-between thick fat ass cracks and then spread the cheeks
To give them vital lessons on how to make ends meet and greet
Still they just fell life-less and died before they even hit the white sheets
It aint easy being a washed-up word prostitute
My battered and beaten letters run like stockings
From ugly feet peeking through open-toed shoes crying...Put on a boot!
Fly words use to jump outta my mouth, then pop open a parachute
Floating through minds slowly, making my comprehension reveal their truth
Like hot alphabet soup, eyes use to sip my words slow
Now they're like an uncontrolled dick, start off strong, stutter, spit then die off quick
Ending before one commercial during your favorite television show
Yall just don't know...
My words had hustle, fuck a flow
They were my life-giving waters
The reasons why my Ledge consciously followed my Know...