I thought of what skill I'd want to have, I thought maybe I wanted to have a musical talents so I could sarenade you in song. Then I thought maybe poetry so I could win you over with words as sweet as honey. And as I kept thinking I pictured my self with the skill of running fast so I'm their as soon as you need me.
But now I'm sitting here with no skills writing words you will never read.
I got bars,
it's not about fancy cars or Lil Wayne rapping about Mars.
So far I am marred and scarred by false charm,
burned and charred that we are stuck in this dung tar.
It's about understanding we are stuck in the under standings so understand this,
can bring raze as I raise and rise to clear out these rinse and repeat Rhymes.
I don't care about the money or women.
Will your Rap make a difference.
Only a few got the conscious to talk about love.
The rest is a pile of shit I put to the side and shove.
What is the difference,
Asked the educator,
Between being skillful,
Such as a prostitute,
And being educated,
Such as a teacher?
Well, replied a prostitue,
One educates skillfully,
The other skillfully educates.
Which is which?
The educator responded.
Depends, said the prostitute,
On the pay and benefits.
It feels like everything is institutionalized
But you can’t teach common sense,
Listing skills for a job application
I can’t write down intelligent
Because your level of intelligence can only be judged by others,
What you have done
someone else may have done differently,
I can’t put down open minded because
People can’t go both ways,
Except in a sexual cause
Some people tend to go both ways,
But people can only be open minded to the things they have been though
Because in the end one
Can only make one decision,
So the only skill I really have is
Born to fight,
Trained to kill,
Protect My Friends,
Mess with the best,
Die like the rest.
You can mess with a gun,
You can mess with a knife,
But mess with me, and
I'll take your life