Reality hanging by a thread.
Coke cans and cannons by my bed.
Show girls shooting up to the head.
Solace for the strong, seizures for the dead.
Pac in the boombox
If the packs don't boom I hope the boom pops.
If the boom don't pop she got a new pops.
Red lips serving blows up on the new blocks.
Humble pie in my abode in a bid to abide.
But the coke on the stove says the law is a lie.
Caught slipping, no snitching so my name shall survive.
Out in 10, when I return
Throw some paper to the sky, let the wind and caution colide.
I'll need a long island on the rocks.
Escape the piles we turn to rocks.
We held their lives within our glocks.
The doors were locked so we turned to the knocks.
Boys in the hood with the little coke babies.
Girls in the hood holding little hope babies.
Daddy never came but we live in hope baby.
All I had were bricks, had to build a home baby.
When Sophistication and Ignorance meet. Sparks fly.
I wrote this purely on impulse. I just woke up and started typing. Then I stopped, Listened to Kendrick's Section80, watched Al Pachino's Scarface and got back to it.
If you don't understand it you shouldn't. The echelons play a vital part in life, know yours.
— The End —