(There is no world large enough to ?? plan happiness. Forget how wide and empty a brass bin can be. Alone again this Sunday morning. I awaken to children who ?? in alleyways, accompanied by taxi horns and people I can hear but not see. A dingy sunlight highlights dirty window panes.)
These kids is dead
I put the bugs in its shell
?? Rosco, bugging himself
You think I'm wack? Yo you ain't bugging yourself
You be shoveling your guts in yourself
Dead in a casket, arms crossed like you hugging yourself
No doubt son, I bury rappers out in the desert til holes crowd up
Jump on the lawnmower, face the blades out
With the crown up
Suck onto his chest ??
I gourd out lungs
I'll grind into oatmeal and goat chowder
Flow a coked out buzz
Slug hook and pellets jab
When that metal flash I'll lift his head off his neck, straight up like his neck was a helipad
Ghetto jungle gym, bars crooked
Spark kush bliss
Anarchist cook booklet
Bars wooden on fire like church burnings
Learning the shadow's art, dark hooded
Tongue sharp like a zipper
I part hoods with punchlines like Hellboy's fist, I smash car hoods in
Clap close range, whole face black sooted
Native savage, turn your back, ax put in
I'm dirtier than my p*ss test, Doc Gooden
I'm from the hospital sticking the doc for lock goodness