My parents ran a residential rehabilitation center. The basement of the first house on Thirty-five Chestnut Street was home for me as a newborn. When I was a kid my life seemed to have no adventure and felt completely void of characters. It wasn't as vivid as tales spun by addicts in search of recovery and a personal Jesus. Back then I didn't see contradictions and complications as a process of human maturity. Time taught me that Life is tragic, hope filled, explicit, and blessed ...
May 10, 2010
reworked w/no name yet ...
Verbally back at it with tele-spaz-matic tactics/heavy like metal jackets and effortlessly charismatic/many who thought they doubted know really they saw it coming/all good cousin/dough always cakes when slow burning in the oven/now let me begin by asking you to shut the fuck up/gliding on crystal eye drops draped in grassy green bon fires/I spit dope like the smack my pops shot persistently penetrating with subversive culture like a rectal intruder/jumped from/assed out dirty bags to home grown wit super powered pressure lungs fashioned from steel casings/certified spliff technician and card carrying green thumb enthusiast/re canting karma dimming activities cuz I'm a nigga with an attitude and a man on a mission/a carbon dated trophy collection from verbal sound clashes bears witness to this phantom menace
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