I look left, everyone says I wasn’t right.
I look right, and it seems like there’s nothing left.
I look ahead, the clocks telling me I’m running behind time.
Instead — I looked up this time, and that’s when the light shinned down on me.
Often I want to drop to my knees, and bow my head, but gravity won’t let me know defeat.
I’m graveling
I’m scrabbling.
If this is my brain on drugs.
Killah California is the place to be.
Serve em up something street.
Take ’em underground
In awe holding your breath,
Racing your thoughts to your heart–
All while your body is trying to adjust to resurfacing.
They would never believe.
That these groups of misfits, outkasts, and nerds turned out to be so superb.
That we’re the ones igniting the flames in the core of the earth.
I wonder sometimes, are they really surprised?
Could the ice from the 2 chains really be that bright?
Those fans mustn’t really be too bright.
Wouldn’t have enough light if the sun son’d you, and
I amplified enlightenment through a projector and a mic.
I wish the government would kidnap Waka Flocka, and take him
to sesame street to spend the night.
Gucci down to my juice mane,
That’s that shit I don’t write.
Tho I don’t condone violence
The guns in the beat and my lyrics might.
Old Nigga, Young Money
Skinny Jeans, Thug Life!
Riding through the city bumping Nicki,
I hate my life!
Excuse me.
I was seeking Romans Vengeance.
I must’ve lost it somewhere with the other barbies and bubbles, while I was doing dishes.
To make it simple,
This is what my wish is.
Please make another genre for these characters, so
Hip-Hop can stop being disrespected.
Sincerely,
The Gifted Neglected,
-Leighrick
PROCLAMATION TRANSFORMATION 