1800
M.O.B. forget a bent right after I hit a bent,
Like point me 2 the kitchen bent,
Hit it the fork, straight drop,
No short train shooters on and off the chop,
I remember my days as a youth,
Teenage gangster with something to prove,
Now these days I’m going through a phase,
Multi-dimensional instead of one way,
The south uses weed to monocoaster deeds,
To all who are uninvited trapped by the pirates
Disease of the clan’s penitentiary to the man,
They come at me from all angles and dangles,
Administered by secret triangles
A counterfeit of the times portraying big lines,
But in reality it is a quest of who seeks the rest
To rack up all the hooks in the time they have to book
A sweet little baby living from the kidnappers’ chasing,
So I left those paid, hiding in the shade,
Pursuing the city she did
Running away the throw fits,
Such beautiful buildings I can absorb
And feel my memory to the lord,
That I love my little baby right back in the old days lady,
I’m a get them right back!
