Verbal Photography

Eighteen syringes strapped to niggaz wit fifteen plastic glocks, tripping off that bom-ba-zee/die casted into pseudo classic positions of honor within their psycho-religious Caste system/I’d rather be, racing dolphins having deep-sea diving competitions with the wind and watching myself overdosed while engrossed by Lilth in an Amsterdam coffee shop

Now the new me is back, such a paradox, and the chances of my return are slim to subliminal none, further enlistment for another tour of duty will only serve to delay the inevitable advent of freedom - begrudgingly, I find myself lavished with the lush reflective praises from contemporaries previously hating amazingly on our Logan’s run, where cumulus clouds of greenery inspire blurry-eyed choke sessions

Depending on which side of the bullet you was chewing, blessings from my gun permit rejection notice having already selected infa-red melon invitations for jelly back bitch niggaz from bk to the bronx - apologies are in order to the fathers of all the daughters … consequently it was consensual when I was diggin’ that out

I’ve got peoples who stress the mistakes made out of state, niggaz who can’t kick dream shattering habits, and my minds eye fixated upon the location of the prize … I’m focused man, so focused … from day one parallel parking in the back of my black hearse the queen has more than tripled her kismet net worth, elaborating on the selection of her future collection coming standard with beautiful Her-mes pur-ses

Presently collecting applications for a friendly, all recently assaulted bitch niggaz need not apply