"bouta" poems
stone cold killa
knockin' fellas off
they feet, ****** on the bay
writing poetry and
pushing bodies in the lake
she's a killa, man
get off on false promises
of commitment
no 5-o's, no weapon clues
no witness
i'm dead broke
i'm her next target
spending money on happiness
a poem like a wandering outlaw
us, causing sinister stares under the sunset
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 4:52 AM UTC
***** ****** with gold triggers
Gold chains and no figures
Broke as a joke what the hell am I gone do with ya ?
Idk. These new ******
Not black people them ew ******
Have priorities so messed up they put rent behind new shoes *****
Ch ch boom, that mac go
Bodies on the floor getting stacked tho
Rappers getting snacked on
Came in the game through the back door
But now I'm at the gate guarding it
Y'all really just here to be gardening
I'll finish it cuz I started it
I'm new but I'm a huge part in this
So pardon the interruption like ESPN on late nights
I used to travel on ground but now all I do is make flights
And please don't get me wrong cuz I swear that I lived a good life
Real good right ?
Then how I get so violent like its hood life ?
I'll never know I'll never know
Them big parties I gotta go
Yo girl ******* they gotta show
Yo girl with me she gotta blow
Don't pass the blunt cuz I never smoke
Just pass the bottle I'll drain it slow
You make it rain, I make it snow
Wait no I don't
Cuz my cash flow
Is for me myself and I and I just had to talk with me see
Cuz myself kinda crazy like the lohans' father's seeds be
So me be running up to I like the letter after g be
Cuz Me see the evil man that myself will be in three weeks
But plant a bomb and blow myself up like my career by the month of June
You swear you on my level, I'm singing you using auto tune
I snapped up on this rap, is there anything else I need to do
This is open vent 6 and I promise you that I'm still not through
I know I'm bouta ball like I'm kobe, d wade, or uncle drew
It's me, it's drake, it's Kendrick, all these rappers but really who are you ?
I know I'll be the best just give me time and some orange juice
And swear to you I'll be the first trillionaire to hit the booth
I'm super cool I'm laid back
I never leave where I was raised at
That 414 that mil town
The best city never made whack
This open vent is through with
That new kid with the swag with em
What the hell is they gone do with em
He changing music a new system
His stupid bars and imagination
He's rapping hard, no hesitation
Next vent I'll sing amazing
Then see how much I'm really making
Cuz right I don't know
But on the real I gotta go
Next vent'll go down for sho
So stay tuned for the next show
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
My brain is on autopilot
I need to lay down and pray
My head is causing riots
My thoughts don’t seem to stay
As I reach for my ink pen
I can feel my pain seeping
I’m not in shallow waters
I’m currently in the deep end
Just when I think All I needed was faith
My brain shriveled up
There’s no way to escape
To this world without my mask and cape
All I’m busting are blanks
When I need to be making my way to the bank
Instead I sit back in anguish
Bouta throw me tantrum
My words aren’t the vaguest
But I’m sticking out like a ***
My ink is dried up like leftover ***
Its like having the moon but without the Sun
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC