Untitled

People need to understand that I don’t want no fucking handouts
I’m a grind for everything until my fucking hearts stops
Because I will make it to the top
Just watch
When I show you
How a kid from jersey
Can make millions spittin poetry
With or with out a beat
Once people get a taste of me
They will see
That I am the truth
Then, they will have no choice, but to follow me
And cop my books and my cd’s
I agree with Talaam Acey
When he said, “Come to spoken word and get your inner self seduced/
'cause what else can move your inner self out side your self like the truth?”
I’m tired of hearing cliché poets
Writing shit about poetry and how much they love it
Because if you love it so much then spit some real shit
So people can get knowledge
This is a gift from god so don’t you dare waste it on that foolishness
Trying to get some of the white man’s dividends
Spitting poems about how much you killing folk
When you never even seen a glock yo
That aint your story
But you fabricate it
Just so you can get that money
You doing an injustice to all the people needing encouragement
There are Gods words
From the realness, how dare you change them?
As a real spoken word artist
I’m a stay within my blackness
But I will reach others
Because the things that I say
God spilled onto these fuckin papers