"amped" poems
To live is the rarest thing in the world. I agree with that statement. To live means to have life or to be alive, but how many people actually do that?
"Life is a crazy ride and nothing is guaranteed.", said Eminem. So many people in today's day and age have gone through situations, and almost always unexpectedly. The impact of the situation has left many of them with no zest for life, and they end up simply existing. Its pretty sad if you think about it though. Where some of us are living a zealous life, amped with motivation, others are like clouds, just drifting by, day after day.
Well, I think that's the problem, I think that is to blame for so many things. People who only exist have no goals for their lives, they become negative and have no hope whatsoever. They become so pessimistic that they sometimes get the better of the optimistic. That shouldn't be happening. I can confidently say that those who live to just exist, are the most negative in our population. Everybody suffers and everybody hurts but some of us have acknowledged the fact that circumstances are temporary, so why should we let it get the better of us.
Life is way too short to just go by existing. Doing that is like making food that won't get eaten or buying a phone that you won't use, its pointless. Existing instead of living is almost insulting your creator. Each of us were created for a special purpose, and merely existing is not one of those. I believe that just existing is a waste. So many of us have lost friends and Family members, that we would give anything to see again. You have a life, they don't. Make use of it.
Remember that you were only give one life to live, but if you do it right, once is enough. Also, always know that if you love life, it will love you back. Living your life to the best of your ability can only ever have a positive effect on your life. You were given this life because you're strong enough to live it.
Take chances. Tell the truth. Say no. Spend all your cash. Get to know someone randomn. Say I love you. Sing out loud. Laugh at stupid jokes. Cry. Apologise. Tell someone how much they mean to you. Laugh till your stomach hurts. Regret nothing. Most importantly, live life.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
your gusto
ripping through my veins
'merican flags
trump supporters
platinum beer
fireworks flaring
fires visible atop seedy peeled-paint rvs
technicolor lights amped up on edgy recreational vehicles
4000 (BRIGHT BLUE), 6000 (BRIGHT GREEN), 750XR ON-AND-ON-AND
covered in dirt and filth
eating meat
sizzled atop
flames atop
charcoal bricks and lighter fluid
complimented by krafts brand
mac n cheese
i am apart of it
you know
your triumph burns sticky, out of my skin
guiltily i came into being
birthed inside anthracitic sediments and lighter fluid
scratching, writhing, biting
at the mercy
of a hyper-paint / subtle-death encrusted
reality
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
1968 I remember 1968..
The land of milk and honey.
The war was still cold but not
The Tet. That ***** was hot.
1954 I made my debut. Lotta my boys did too.
** chi Minh amped up his crew.
Can't. We all just get along.
No way LBJ. Young guys all over town stressin the lottery.
The randomness of body bag.
Friday hip deep in rice paddy.
Monday a letter to your moms.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
I have long sought quiet.
And please, let me be clear: quiet.
Not the quietus Hamlet desired,
No “consummation devoutly to be wished” for me.
No, with or without a bare bayonet,
UNBEINGNESS is hardly what I seek.
It is not the predicament of death,
But the quiet spectacle of the grave I envy.
Originally a city mouse,
I am familiar with the urban soundscape.
I know city noise, amped up in decibels.
Noise-induced stress, shrill and enervating,
Add to the mix a working-class neighborhood,
Where someone is always hammering,
Using a power tool of some kind,
Repairing, improving an older, somewhat decrepit home;
But a steal as the realtors say.
Or vehicles, like Old Havana relics,
Held together by secular prayer,
And thriving underground Cuban capitalism.
Then just for fun: *"Let’s send the son of a ***** to war."*
Tympanic membranes be wary and be ******
Stretched and perforated,
Compressed and torn,
Shredded like wheat.
Pummeled by shock wave.
I was Lear wandering the heath,
Your ass-cheeks cracked:
*“Cataracts and hurricanes . . .
Oak-cleaving thunderbolts . . .
Sulphurour and thought-executing fires . . .
Singe my white head!”*
Cue Cabaret music (Cabaret (1972) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0068327): “Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome . . . to Indochine,”
First a Weimar-Saigon suckee-fuckee,
Then out to *The ****
Mind-numbing concussion,
Reek of jellied gasoline,
Charred meat,
Assorted red entrails,
Obliteration of thought complete.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Mulling about
The muck
The haunts we are hardbound
Foggy fetal leavings by the sea
Right before the light;
The days of purple haze
Of sallow street cars, street lamp, amped up
Yet dampened loss of desire
Pop another oxy-hydro-fire.
To be able
To muck about
With inner abandon
the abandonments deep
Numb battlements / "Hoorah!"
Semper Fi the pain
Only significant
With derivatives
From ******* plantations
Opioid addiction’s contractually binding
Lingering love notes
A vice grip on idle minds
So many now that prey
But with a side affect of
Try holding in your ****
for three-plus days
So as not to feel
Not at all
Not even the rage
We keep anxiously pacing
Clawing at
Nonexistent strings
A Beast inside our cage
Forgiven by preacher men
Proclaiming to hallelujah
Change
At war with illusionist
Freedom
The boys fight for still
A country of patriotic pill poppers
Believing in heavenly kingdoms'
Healing
Secret silent pleading
Because nothing takes away
The pain
Like Hydro Oxy foxy pills
Self medicate down wind of will
If unaffected "consult your physician"
He’s at the edge of the stage
A Spearmint rhino making it rain
For Peaches
From patient list of his *******
The business of lust
Is feeding the loss of will
If you still feel lost -- and war sure did
Give them nothing but
PTSD & bad dreams
Machine gun migraines
Pop another pill
Jagged little killer
Softly knocks you off your feet
Black is cheaper
Smoke out not to feel
The muck-about days of
Constipated pains
Reader Digesting heavily,
Numbingly unreal.
Casualty of a nameless waste
That’s his deal / what it's like :
Most fecund
A life on the toilet
In wait for relief…
Get off the ***
Can't give a ****
Like this bowel movement
His heart has called it quits
To all this unholy *******
Veteran
Patriot
Manhood’s defeat
Damnation
Mucking about...
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Coming home, I feel I’m a fan
on the stage of an amped up rock show
in front of a hyped up crowd, about to dive –
will you promise to catch me
before my jump turns into a fall?
Carry me over your wavelike faces,
your hands holding me, floating me over to
the dance floor with you
all.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
it was the
summer
of 13
when a city
consumed in a
Cronut crazed
heat wave
amped
the tenderloin
slicing the underbelly
of Hell's Kitchen
packing meat for
Russian oligarchs
pouring fistfuls
of petrol rubles
down the
thirsty gullets
of glutinous
developers
their distended
bellies welling
with aching
avarice
from an
extended
stay at an
All You Can Eat
zero interest
smorgasbord
courtesy of
Uncle Sam’s Diner
somewhere off the
West End
getting fat
on the land
reclaimed
and rebuilt
on the dust
and detritus
of an expired
Great Society
Bloomie's metropolis
rising on the rubble
of razed neighborhoods....
the vertical leaps
shooting ever upward
the heady windows
framing portraits
of endless replication
offering the amenities
of the vain comfort
found in ghettos of
soulless high rises
and the billowing
gray perspective
of blanched out
street cafes
brewing $9 lattes
and big box
boutiques busy
busking the
latest rage
of sweat repelling
yoga mats and
wearable apps
America’s Mayor
Giuliani paved the way
he arrested all
the squeegee men
confiscated their Windex
dumped it down
the sewers and filled all
vacancies at Rikers
a year after Sandy
rolled up the Hudson
breaching the banks
of West Street
licking the streets
clean of urban
flotsam the
surging boom
bloomed
Bloomie bankrolled
a red carpet
for his global
fraternity of
plutocrats
unleashing a
tsunami of
shekels
washing away
the fading
memories of
Captain Sully’s
cool headed
lunch pail
heroism proving
that 727’s can
walk on water
was now passe
Lou Reed
left town
the wild side
monetized by
the belching
banality of
Urban Hipsters
millennial
babes in toy land
embarked on an endless
shopping spree
where credit limits
never expire and
giddy narcissism
greased with entitlement
orders up room service
as the next course
in this endless
movable feast
Music Selection
Philip Glass
The Hours
9/8/13
NYC
jbm
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
It might be the passersby that amuse me:
The brightly dressed young woman whose ease
And deeply warm smile suggest convincingly
She is a new bride, her heart dancing like the breeze;
Or her companion, whose strength beams
Through his eyes and brightens his gaze,
His love, like the sun's light streams
Over his young wife, whose laughter seems his praise;
Or the gaggle of adolesents,
From whose conversation I catch words
Like “amped” and “dude,” most of which to me make no sense,
Whose clothes seem much worn than what their parents can afford;
Or it might be the happy child
Giggling in her mother's arms,
Whose fun consists of simply flailing all wild
And watching the smiles of those the fun disarms.
Or it might be that I am the youngest of them all,
Cane on the bench beside me,
Taking in the world, anew, fresh, though this be my 76th fall.
If this park bench view means anything, very clearly:
Life is a smiling thing.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Born and reared in the city of Bridgeport,
where the trash arose from Long Island Sound.
The seagulls appeared, then vanished from sight,
wafting and diving through radiant sky.
Some inlets and harbours, lapping the shore,
while sounds of young voices screamed with delight.
Marvelous moments to form our delight.
Skipping through the busy streets of Bridgeport.
Heading south down Park, to visit the shore.
Where all you could hear was the visual sound,
of airplanes and balloons, gracing the sky,
alive in my mind but quite out of sight.
The crystalline sparkle came into sight,
to everyone’s pure and simple delight.
We watched as the clouds emerged from blue sky,
over the stunted skyline of Bridgeport.
Suddenly the clamour, the noise, the sound
came crashingly close to the rocky shore.
With silence removed from that muffled sound,
bemoaning the graphite and speckled sky.
Searching and groping for inner delight.
pasteurized thoughts over the sandy shore.
Memorized pictures brought into our sight,
a lost time; in the bowels of Bridgeport.
Sail boats and tankers came upon the shore,
out of the distance, and into my sight.
All I could hear was breath of the sound,
with glee, laughter, and a certain delight.
The slums became the city of Bridgeport,
reaching endlessly toward the dancing sky.
Adrift; at peace, and awashed by the sound,
flippantly airy as ground touched the sky.
I strolled and smiled with love lost delight,
scampered along on our copious shore.
Aware that my flight was love at first sight,
on the coast, in the city of Bridgeport.
Amped delight amid the light of our sound
misconstrued Bridgeport scraped close to the sky,
up to the shore and again out of sight.
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 5:15 PM UTC
I am a dear "friend" of yours
Yes, you know me well
If you know my name or not
Only time will tell.
There's a rave that's going on
A place that I have found
Kids! You need to go there!
Tho it's 6 feet underground...
All dressed up? Ready to go?
I tell you... it's a blast!
You won't know it's a furnace
And the pain will always last.......
There's party treats for everyone!
Maggots are just grand!
There's no food or water
But there's a Mega Band!
Come! We're getting closer!
And I have a hunch
That you won't mind the sulfur
No, you won't mind the stench
What's that noise, you ask me?
Oh... it's not what it seems!
Those are the amped-up *guitars
NOT a-g-o-n-i-z-e-d screeeeams!*
Don't mind the cuts & scratches
Don't mind all the flies
Don't mind that I am uglier
I'm losing my disguise...
Oh, are you uncomfortable?
Is it getting HOT in here?
Well, sorry, there ain't any punch
Much less any beer...
Yes, it IS most very DARK
It's very black and dank
Are you having trouble breathing?
Is the odor getting rank?
Ah! Now you see the lava
Is leaving your desire?
Sorry, your ticket was one-way
To the burning lake of fire...
Yes, regret's your portion
For your soul you did sell
You'll be here *e--t--e--r--n--a--l--l--y
I Welcome You to Hell.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/28/2016
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
*Your lips they felt so nice
They felt so ******* nice
As you pressed them against my neck
You gave me a deep, wet, intense, **** little kiss
My gosh I love the feeling of them
The way your lips trailed
Slipping and sliding
Up and down
It made me moan uncontrollably
The power of your lips... Oh ****
They ******* turned me on so ******* much
Especially when you hugged me so tightly and intensely as if you didn't want to let me go
It amped things up even higher
I lost my breath in the moment
And my heart stopped for a few seconds
**** baby you know just what I like
I just wanna squeeze and **** those **** ******* of yours
I love how your ******* grow ***** to my touch
Makes me feel like a man
Makes me feel special
**** I....
I want more....
(licks lips)
Come here baby*
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 5:44 AM UTC
Listen to stories as I spill
Cuz this something that's too **** real
Hard for you to dodge my lyrical collage
So step with me into this reality first
I woke up then I looked up
I see it's a l
Past quarter to nine
And woodys on
At twelve
But forget that verse cuz it was only the spirits in a thirst
Called up a few homies while I'm laying in the bed
Watchin' Wilma and Fred then a thought occured to my head
I told my boys we should go out
Maybe a stripper club or diner
But either way we need to roll out
So I got dressed made sure I was good looking
Check the mirror even it was shooken
Got a make move moving real fast ya see
Cuz I gotta my Posse to G -E -T
My Posse on MLK My Posse on MLK
My Posse On MLK
Now once I pulled up in the big black truck
Ya know the big Tahoe where I tie hoes? Get it
Naw I'm just clowning thinkin a groove so we can start soundin'
Off to beat our vocals meet
We acting real silly up goes the dilly
They playing throwback of Magoo and Timbaland on the track
Way back up jumps the boogie all in me
Now I'm amped with my Posse
We ready to get it crackin'
And no stoppin' us G
Like Reggie Miller on three top of key
Where we all love to meet
We check each other make sure we fresh
Cuz the girlies love to test the way we dress
So we now in the street bass bumpin' with the beat
Gotta admit I had to roll up a swisher sweet
Nothing to see here haters cuz we gettin ready to raid ya
My Posse on MLK My Posse on MLK
My Posse On MLK
As we make into the club I'm feeling real good
But I hate that songs scrubs
Girls stop fronting djs cutting
Got everybody in the club jumpin'
Mens is grinding on girls behinds and
And there me and posse in long line and
Next thing ya know they move us to the front row
VIP status man I'm feeling the baddest
Once we got on set
I told the dj to change the rec so I can show em
How cold me and posse gets
Once I touch the mic their was a long silence
Microphone screeching
But stop once the rhymes started preaching
Everybody nodding having a good time
Out comes the rhymes break em every time
Throwin' hards thrills so ya better chills
Or else my Posse going to rearrange ya grill
Now that ya in a trance with my music
That's makes ya dance
And all this time they had nothing to say
Cuz my Posse to Ill from MLK
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
i like the word epicenter
heard it one night all cranked out trying
to get drunk the juice like water
my nose sweating
amped like hell
wanting to disassemble the VW
bug
find what that sound was,
took apart the carburetor first,
sniffed and stood for half a second said, nah,
not the prob
looked into the glovebox
was sure the bug was in there,
a few screws later
the dashboard was on the porch
and still I had no idea what
that ******* sound was
walked in quick circles
thinking , almost,
it had to be the radiator
or a fanbelt or the tires!
Yes !
I took them all off, carefully snooted around their
hoses the perimeter of the fanbelts circumference
the radiators fins
the pressure
got to me of the tires was perfect,
had to be the ******
I sniffed down my throat went that
chemical taste like antifreeze
I took her out
the transmission
inspected her tip to toe
the servo thing the
valve body
went full bore into the
torque converter
it torqued
converted
now I was getting worried
it was the mirror was loose of course
I took her off
it was coated with a white powder
did a line straight to
AutoZone
for a mirror cleaning
fluid , they looked at me funny.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
I wanna have sax with you again.
You trumpet my mind away.
I miss how the tips of my fingers press every single one of your keys causing you to vibrate
Then I’d strum a handful of your strings, getting amped up for you to scream
Do you remember the way that your ***** felt due to the stroking of my trombone?
This is when your harps start to beat excessively
And mines was on the same bass
You would always turn around so I can use my drumstick
You’d think I put my foot it in.
I recall how you catch rhythm quite splendid each side clapping tambourines.
I inquired, you’d choir
**** our orchestrated erotica
Now do you understand why your name is logged into my phone as Harmonica?
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
Twelve days. I have been on this roll.
Spun like a top, I cant seem to stop.
With every twist of my wrist and a flick of the Bic, clouds billow in, tension follows out.
My head is at ease. The noise has ceased.
Twelve days. The shadow people wave, like I am old friend.
Backwards am I. For I dont get amped off the high.
Clean a room? Ha! I'd rather stare at the sky. Wave goodbye to the ADHD, see ya when I run out, whenever that may be. Twelve days.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
I’m wishing I was you as much as you wish you were me,
Our minds are missing, out to sea,
See I’m armless, essentially harmless,
Ambling around like an amped up amputee,
But if we put our problems together do you think you’d be after me?
Brinking on a shrink, whose thinking I'm a catastrophe,
Missing linking and I think, that not even my laughter’s free,
People shrinking, slink around, accusing me of blasphemy,
But the truth is, I’m bruised, because Big G never answered me,
My water was water, it never turned into wine,
I never prayed at an altar, I never turned to a shrine,
I never turned to a crime, my life’s not harrowing it’s genuine,
Narrowing the line, being vain and still a heroine,
There's pain from time to time but my veins are clean of ******
I’m fine, though I whine, cause my spine feels my adrenaline,
My life’s realigned,
I think it's time to add the zen again,
How’s that for comparison, do we even compare,
We’re Misfits, and we go where the eagles dare,
People don’t care, where the eagles fly,
Because empathy’s been emptied in the blink of an eye,
And I think that when you cry, you can repair your mistakes,
Let's start replying to the sigh of other people’s heartaches.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
All senses amped up
Sliding through the crashing wave
Thrilled deep to the core
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
James at the edge of the Queen
“one for old times”
tossed the brand new bag
100cc outfits
into my lap
orange cap shinning --
fine yellowish powder sprinkles
across grandmothers silver
flick of the Bic
sour lemon stank filled room
slow draw through a shirt string
cotton ball of choice
holding 65cc’s of uncut prop-dope
…an impossibility today –
indented armpit skin
as the nearly clear liquid
takes on a pink tinge
the artery never fails to deliver
plunger plunged plunging impurities –
gag cough from my belly
wave crashes and sweat pours
to amped to sit still
the car calls –
miles out of the way before arrival
at her benefactors home
sweetest of faces snuggled
on a blanket pallet on the living room floor
as I feverishly pencil
bad poetry
until daybreak –
November the fourth
2002
this was the last time
these were the last actions
of a strung out needle freak
breaking new ground
by leaving the past behind –
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Dig
We were nearly back to the house
when the front end loader shattered
the silence and back filled the hole
drove off some vireos and cowbirds
amped up seven whitetail browsing
the pine break above Calusa Way.
American Spirit *******
a new moon **** of mouth
the operator feathered the lever
while gathered together we grazed
potato salad, deviled eggs, sliced ham, rain
from the Gulf over to Melbourne
soaking the operator’s boots
ducking into his pickup truck
for the long drive home to Pedro.
It hammered the tin roof shed
out back where your tools
tarps, trouble lights, line trimmer
home brew insecticide in unmarked
milk jugs, old spark plugs
a lifetime of nuts, bolts and washers
huddled warm and dry on shelves
ball peened the tamped sand lozenge
on the ragged fringe of the silent ranks.
It’s hard to find even with a map
Calusa Way coiling through the bahia grass
flowing past stone faced theater goers
house lights up well past their final act.
Vireos and cowbirds
even the whitetail browsing
the pine break pay me no
mind down on hands and knees
undoing the honest work
of the operator, sifting handfuls
of sandy backfill for something
I might have missed.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
Many people maybe so amped up and so full of energy. I am going to rock it out with some Three Days Grace. Wouldn't mind the Rocking Life. All sorts of bands and types of Rock. I felt the need to belong. Wheres Hollywood Undead? Turn that **** up. Some Bullet for my valentine or slipknot I don't care I want to jam I want to Rock. prove yourself by Varsity Week lets jam out time to Rock it out. A little bit of PTV maybe Asi it is I'm in the mood to Rock it out
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
A Friday night in silence.
My mind races a hundred miles an hour.
Solitary confinement is the most dangerous thing to me.
I will either use it to destroy my world, or yours.
I'm not good at sitting still.
I die with stagnation.
On these nights, I drink til I can sleep,
or stay amped until I collapse.
I don't know how to shut down.
That's the same thing that keeps me going on the good days.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
It starts off with darkness,
only the sound of heels tapping is heard.
Then all is silent.
My heart beginning to mix with
the rhythm of a silent beat.
Bam all that is seen is brightness,
I'm frozen in place.
I remember where i am when
the piano begins to sound.
Everything seems to ease and smile.
The steps are played in my head and
translated through my body.
I find myself flowing to one side
holding there presence...
Then leaping across to the other.
The music moves through me like
a wave of passion feeding my soul.
With every step a new emotion is amped
through everything like dancing on electric wires.
My body, heart, soul and mind crave more.
More music, more steps to come to mind.
My heart is electrified with heated passion.
All too quickly it ends.
But, the music never dies inside,
I'm able to live through the next day
until i come face to face with music again.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 5:03 AM UTC
Crawling away for safety
Only to barely make it
Crawling away from the stares
The hateful,disgusted stares
That burns the victim
Burns through the thin layer of scarred skin
Burns through the littered flesh
Burns all the way to the soul
.......
Crawling away to safety
Ducking off just in time
In time to dodge the vicious stereotypes
So sharp they cut through the flesh
Through the flesh to the bare soul
The brutal beliefs
Of you and you
Of the world
Of you and you
And possibly me
Just barely dodging the painful swings
The painful punches of the tongue
Opinions being thrown
Thrown like a professional mad man
In a room with only his thoughts
Screams of pain
Wails of agony
The sag of defeat
The drag of limp esteem
The shortness of breathe
Due to the fingers of life
Closing in slowly but thoroughly
Tighter and tighter
Around my windpipe
My only source of survival
......
Crawling away to safety
Only to be pulled back
Pulled back by embarrassment
Pulled back by the past
The pain of yesterday
The pain that has seemingly closed the door
Closed the door to the joy of tomorrow
Pulled back by the mistakes
The foolish mistakes of a silly child
Pulled back by the thoughts
The thoughts that held me
Held me against my will
Hard against the wall
Fear slapping me around
The truth waiting for its turn
The past getting amped up for its chance
No help in sight
My future passed out to my left
My present knocked out at my right
No idea of what's next
No idea of what's to come
No idea...
Not a clue
Is there even gonna be a next
Or has life won round one
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
What's up DMX, I see they got you next, I just wanna pay,
My respects, 21 gun salutes, with the techs, rough rider,
Like Theodore, for sure, I knew the pain, was plain, and pure,
What else do, we have to live for, too many greats, under the floor,
Resting peacefully, somebody put them slugs in me,
Reverse the tragedy, just to bring more tragedy, and agony,
Dodge the vanity, enemies sitting on the front, steps of mercy,
I seen many, died before, just another, unpredicted prophecy,
Thought I could shake, the cold flee, filled with lifeless memories,
First Kobe to Doom, then X, to close the everlasting, trinity
Now all I have is ya songs, rest in peace, dawg with the heavenly
Used to get amped up, to get at me dawg, rough on the hogs,
Living to die, so why even try, to muster the fry, last breed to die,
This game been ***** check the birdies, chirping slowly,
Crack the 40z, for the lost homies, too many, too name,
Lost in the fame, **** I should, have bit, the flames
Longer ago, seen death knocking at the doors, for the cure,
My best homies, all clay frozen, as isee the souls rosen,
From the watery graves, from the grief, that loves to stay,
Til the day, I lay in the ground, im a continue, to bust rounds,
Reload til my thoughts explode, I'm pain free, slipping easily,
Almost couldn't get up, never let up, this world's so corrupt,
Let the trails of tears, uplift the curse, finally in a hearse.
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 11:27 PM UTC