stream of consciousness

so lyrically cynically preach the love over hate but keep the gun in your waist just in case you hear ricochets reaching for stars as-of-late niggaz gone from the game, ask hussein, got a pail he could kick away filled with last words last throes or last wishes, i, kill with mad verbs blast prose in mad mixtures, and bitches got me mixed up doin verse for no cream, if you burst this old seam i got the words to stitch this, verse, paint the pictures with blood, sweat and tears bring the flood of worst fears from those sacred scriptures, learned 'em burned 'em because i was burdened with life, was urgent-ly in need of earnings, yearnings, for some god's return to earth, but the bitch keeps turning and the itch keeps burning, and dollars and cents don't make sense if squalor traps, blue collars from the get go so i holler for the ghetto though i know i gotta let go, some day one day, i keep this gunplay for a bloody sunday's, finest times missed my rhymes hit timeless, my aim's to shine this light on the game...

[think ghostface - metal lungies instrumental]