Sometimes i wish i was a rapper in the booth.
Just to be labeled honesty if the dictionary lacked the word "truth".
I'll find a way through teflon gates, Say Jay? you know all about creating a route.
Being a fugitive somehow when the system was designed for no way out.
It's easy to judge as a billionaire when you not staring at debt in a dark room.
When depression telling you to die while anxiety saying we die too soon.
Put the paintings down & peek back through that portal.
It's ****** living suicidal while simultaneously wanting to be immortal.
Maybe you were just speaking of the MCs
but when it comes to the Atlantas, the Baltimores, the DCs ?
The rocks we between harder than the hardest places.
It's a bit much yes, but you see the money to they ear, I see the smiles on they faces.
You went from roaches to diamond crusted brooches and now you hitting the hood with amnesia driven approaches.
Neck flooded with loaded cuban links, that reasonable doubt Jay
Showing money is showing money, what was different about your display?
I guess being rich for two decades it isn't as exciting no more.
Hard for me to tell a man not to be prideful with a come up when yesterday he was sleeping on the floor.
Did you forget what it felt like to talk to God and not get a response later?
To them that's really a phone, hearing a reply from the Lord through that paper.
We appreciate the game, appreciate the wisdom, you're still a legend to this date.
But as you continue to build a wealthy family don't forget how to relate.

there could be nothing worse than a fat-free yogurt... anything dairy, that's fat free? i'd sooner attain pleasure slurping on pigeon ****... and mind you: i always found the irony of luck... if i was passing near Trafalgar Sq. in london, and pigeon diarrhoea landed on? i'd be... singing in the rain!

the self:
        coordinates upon
a map of recurrent patterns
of ref., much akin
to the mirror -
  perhaps, once upon a time
a man might admire his
image -
           akin to Narcissus -
now the "admiration"
of the image is, nothing short
of a memory, intact;
yet still so strange,
  there's no naturalisation
of memory -
             it feels vague -
oddly: unnaturally selective,
or perhaps that's just
its ontological nature -
    to counteract all other,
natural, laws;
    perhaps due to the fact that
we have an unconscious
essence ascribed to the conscious
faculty of memory,
         we deviate, forget,
and then upon forgetting,
conjure up mirages of past
and future, always afraid to
stand in the present.

a lot or irony can be ascribed to the phrase: flexing your mental muscles / your brain muscles. Alzheimer is a disease composed of killer proteins... perhaps too much difficulty, riddled with a lack of abstraction, compensated by ready-meals of fat free yogurt is the consequence? i still believe that fat is essential in a diet... take the fat out you take out the essence of food: flavour; and if there's a vegan out there that isn't anemic, i'll kick myself in the *** and ask to be called Geoffrey Butler! strange though, isn't it, that the thing that kills the fatty jelly that the brain is: strenuous "exercise", i can't even comprehend how protein kills the brain, killer protein... plus, these shenanigans with fat free this, fat free that! ever made scrambled eggs with green onions and not used butter? or scrambled eggs using jowl? pointless, tasteless, and frankly un-titillating in the least; when i eat, i ought to think of oral ***... funny... after having mouthed her, i had to wash my face, but sometimes i preferred falling asleep with the oily scent; made kissing in the morning bearable... french girls do that... bad breath she'd say... ah... bad ****. seriously though, does writing about *** have to always condense into slapstick? maybe that's why slapstick humour isn't funny anymore, and comedy had to evolve to by: witty! i'd love to find an englishman some day, who didn't have a need to debunk the seriousness of ***... and censor any graphic detail... that would be... grrrrrrreat! ah, you know, they call it ***** i call them oysters... weird though... i sometimes imagine humanity's origin based on the myth of atlantas... how we actually came from the sea, and the monkey was merely a **** similis observation, and how we evolved from whales... that would explain the white boyos superiority at swimming, and the fetus being in a liquid for 9 months... what, there are gills attached to that umbilical chord?! **** aqua- (you figure the correct affix, can't be bothered, went drinking).

*whales: there's a ******* mammal in the sea!
  mate, you can deem yourself derived
from a monkey,
  but given that we're talking billions
in that time frame i conjured a mountain
range in the Saharan desert...
                black man run, white man swim.

there's nothing like the taste of a hurricane

mixed at molly's in the new atlantas.

last time i saw blosuming love at a temporary marriage,

madi gras beads with ***** on them,

and split an irish coffee with a french  aunt.

i slept in the stairwell of a fancy hotel.

there was a grave shaped as a pyramid and music in the streets.

your back up plan is sinking.