My turn, Again, Against stage fright. I thought I couldn’t do it until I walked to the stage like, I had no other choice, But, To put the microphone to my side and then lay lines. Connecting every monumental sentence, Across the jaws of whoever’s willing to bet against, A man who is climbing up and over a hill others roll back to the bottom without a single thought of repentance, While lighting up sedatives. I was blessed to douse with repetitive, Punches to menacing, Thoughts convincing me to keep on drinking while wetting this, Page, With every shot I’ve been refusing to take as I leave behind all of these messages…
At the end of the day, I conjure up rhythms only meant for me to follow, As a means of survival, For all the nights I was hollowed. So, Whoever’s in the way is just another victim for their momma’ to coddle, Going to war with whomever with nowhere to run away as it is the way I was modeled…
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