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Array
(
[sid] => 85178
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Begining Of The Saga
[time] => 2005-02-21 15:38:11
[hometext] => this is a sort of conscious rap that i threw together
[bodytext] => The saga begins I'm a reflection of the drama within the ghetto I live in, niggas Moms on crack, Pops just disappeared the first time you get locked up who really cares? I see a little snotty nosed with his sneakers on backwards get to the corner when I got to make a sale at times I wonder, are we goin' straight to Hell??? or does God realize we're tryin' to make it as well my sleep is interrupted by food on the stove not gun shots, we're immune to those.. some of my friends first bids are two to fours others are on the run with huge rewards Mothers watch Son's walk through the door for the last time 'till they get seen at the morgue life is deep, we all just tryin' to eat rap's a mental narcotic, I supply the streets Look at my life, you see white coke and black roses and tears shed for passed soldiers we all walkin' the path chosen from the cradle 'till the casket's lowered I still got the black ski mask to throw on cuz I cant get richer off the tracks I flow on I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't hustlin' no more look at my life.. Life ain't fair, shorty pregnant with nowhere to live sleepin' in a crackhouse 'cause she don't got no relatives her friends wanna drink brew and beef about who's sale it is now she's gettin' hungry, she smells the marijuana scent I paint a picture vividly as if Picasso's spirit entered me starin' at the Heavens, secluded in a tinted jeep I'm sick of hearin' eulogies I realize my nigga Blue is - a reminder of my past like Greek ruins yet his seek keeps bloomin' uneffected by police intrusions or street illusions we were consumed wit' I've even grown away from people I grew wit' I mean we cool, but I don't need to bull***** my mood could switch easily from smooth to ruthless we ain't built the same so mind games are useless times change, like the climate I change check the forecast, I reign Live niggas I rep for, deceased, I pour Moet for those incarcerated, my heart is wit' y'all I know at times it gets hard behind penetentiary bars then once free you realize you're mentally scarred if not physically, if subjected to correctional facilities prepare for your future to the best of your ability prosper, otherwise you've been conquered blowin' up her mobile phone so she can send you a box Son, I sit inside my residence and thank God I'm blessed with this poetical gift evident in every ghetto like graffiti and crack sales and cabs that won't stop for Black Males undercovers givin' younger Brothers bad stares Fours clap, Dogs crap in the grass here you love to hear the story Son, the saga began here MC's are fiction yet there's actual facts here like the Bible said, Jesus had napped hair.... bronze skin and like niggaz his life was short people listened to his stories and the parables wrote But son, hold ya head,and stear clear of the drama life is the interlude to death,this is only the saga..... [comments] => 4 [counter] => 195 [topic] => 13 [informant] => compton-tre-block [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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