1800
Severed worlds wonders what I am doing,
Trappin spots that cop balls to my cueing,
Breaking racks by the dimes that fall,
Fishing for the bass of the rymes I call,
Between the lines your face still drops,
The puddles of Blood across the parking lot,
Clouds in the sky moving towards escape,
No release of the sun as I make the take,
Holes in your panic as sweat from your brow,
Colors of tramps selling p..sy like cows,
Winds I stand still as the earth grains in your head,
Leaving the time as people walking dead,
Grief at the funeral silent as nature,
My role I become your mother’s undertaker,
Back at the house no home to call sweet,
Goons that drink up what U and I believe,
Little children of mine and yours,
Freezing at these triggers, scheming at these whores,
Trip trapping in my ride like smoking doors,
U wonder what I’m doing at the fire burning s’mores.
