Bætt upp fyrir my last rhyme
Verbal vandelism of torn sciptures past and present
the credentials of life peasents tearin through residents
enhancing the vocals of prehistoric figures of life
re enactment of the murderous violence slashin with knifes
theifs being tangled, strangled and man-handled
hiding behind prison bars raped and dismantled
whats the world coming to, violence is true
killer instincts takin over bodies, what can we do
besides run, hide die and go up above
like nursers doing strip searches with rubber gloves
hip hop figments of imaginations and creations
crashing predicaments of low deselations
skeletal rip cages and rages, tearin through pages
optical illusions like magicians on stages
plagerism of factual life and inventions of untensils
artwork from painters traced, red painted stensils
cartridges and pill capsuls left popped open
drug patinece tryin to survive, now we just hopin
dealers on street corners sellin yay gettin high
no remorse of they corpse when they shrival up and die
ghost looking pale faces and skin like crumpled dust
like metal in its early stages, intact before it rusts
the mentals of life rearranged as useful products
gettin calls home like dad please the cops just got us
what this world comes to is exact in pain
no longer souls are free, slavery inside still remains
Hope yaw like it duns!!
ONE