Spoken Thought

Yeah just press record Check it out, yeah, yo I can’t lie I ain’t got shit, I ain’t got to brag I’m hard-pressed for some cash to send to my ill dad And the jet lag is drilling me Travelling willingly ain’t got a phobia about a plane crash killing me I forced to flee, I’m foreign, I’m from ‘cross the seas unfortunately I’ve fallen Through the cracks of this, system that profits from misfortune and hate Their futures may be bright but their coffins is gray It’s often they say I’ve got a way with words Fate of course march blazing its own torch That’s to my brother locked up behind bars in courts My mother drunk in tears awaiting the phone calls it’s sick So sick that I can’t stand this shit Free-will probably fucked over our manuscript Man who spits like me deserves some ??? No reason I should live in a place they shoot so free My circumstance is nuts I don’t even like stars and their entourage kissing their nasty asses butt I have this nasty cut I recorded a while back They say it’s not like rap, not that rap is bad but this is more abstract More free of insecurities like trying to prove who I be More well-travelled, more thoughts unravelled More language to baffle you like a woman with an adams-apple And this coming from a black muslim refugee Who dropped out of high school in like 1993 Can you imagine how many strikes they got lined up against me Let the stars and constellations light up and defend me You’ll get the details, dig the intricacy if you care to listen You’ll hear the street tales but to know unveil when we conveying wisdom Therefore it is best I Switch over like a transvestite And leave this hip-hop for the new hip-“pop” Everyone’s doing it and it’s only fair ??? Think of real hip-hop as the wife that couldn’t bear children