A Tale of Grit
All Rights Reserved
Balls to the walls, tits to the bricks,
all tryin’ to get their next quick fix.
Gutter, alley, condemned buildings like rotted teeth,
never get used to the smell, like a foul yeast queef.
This race of rabid rats, infestation ever-growing,
shell casings of the human race,
destitute in mourning.
Quick to sell a daughter, a mother, a private part,
anything just for another taste of the sweet sweet tart.
Boulevard of broken dreams,
once flowing potential, now toxic streams.
Then night falls, last of inhibitions going down with the sun,
neon and florescent illuminating the cesspool scum.
Dark muses keepin’ my gray matter snappin’,
underbelly poet, my wings start flappin’.
Til I hit the glide, the soar, moonwalkin’ off their stalkin’,
who’s huntin’ who, my flow be poppin’.
Rhythm to my verses, from their own curses,
my lyrics, my chant, drivin’ ‘em away in hearses.
She gives, she takes, this unapologetic street,
the heart to my urban soundtrack, her timing, her beat.