I got something to finish its called a poetic bloodline
It was meant for me to speak to keep crowds off they
Feet while they waitin’ for the next line in my poetic
Back in the past I thougth these streets was for me
but these streets is mean now I have no choice but
to go back to my dream that’s to be a writer of poetry
or lyrics cause when I was on the street I didn’t fear it
Being in a gang pays
A rear end whoopin’ lays
Carryin’ heat that sprays
That won’t hesitate to have you layin’ on the pave
it’s the first word that comes to mine
now that I put the past behind
it’s up to me to make the good or bad decision
it ends up in math term like division
Question: a wise man what is life?
Wise man: elaborate on it
Question: were we put here to die?
When we sad do tears suppose to dropp down our eyes?