Cut, I bleed Black

  

So I wrote a rhyme to a beat/ sitting on the far end of my crooked 8 to 5 seat/  scratching my receding hair line, once full Samson blessed dreadlocks/ on the flip you ain’t gat no skyline/ in this form all you gat is a 4 brick wall, a name tag and a smile, just like the sky ain’t yo limit/  unless you gat that Superman X-ray vision/ but it ain’t about me, it’s all about what she said, so check this, the streets been feisty, had my slim game, but it wasn’t that nasty enough to slid through the deep blocks, trying to fit in with them rhyming cats,  stuck to my rhyme book like it was that God piece scribbled on a stone for Moses and them other folks to adhere, my thoughts be cryptic, universal and I’m here for y’all to hear, black, precise, hieroglyphics, with facts,. generations stuck in my bones you can’t pull off like the Excalibur sword, my foundation be deep,  knowledge and truth, the definition of what you feel now as the youth, 3rd eye vision, used by every MC, simple commandments like these, I aint hard, my skin colour be pitch black, gat ancestors who done gone to hell and back, still gat ancestors who done created the pyramids and what notes. So I easily write my simple notes in dark lines, blood ink feels this pen as I write, cut and I bleed Black.