The world is small and
the cycle goes on for miles
from L.A. to Louisiana,
to New York,
to New Jersey,
to Georgia;
my residence of choice
by any means necessary;
moved to different locations
avoiding getting buried from the grind,
to living a life of unadulterated crime.
I've been shackled and'
like quarterbacks outside the pocket
I've been tackled;
but the worst has yet to appear,
not saying I'm ready,
even though I can feel it near.
death is coming,
there is no sense in running
I can hear the drummer drumming.
the final days are here;
Bonafide brother's writing apocalyptic lines,
while young children snort lines of that powder
who really has the power;;; the whites ,
the blacks, or
just the gunpowder.
Life is hard,
Life is real,
but as long as you are armed
with your holy shield and sword
can't anything penetrate the soulful temple...