My Pad

Just chilling in my zone and I'm home alone
got me in the zone
man it used to be a blast from my past when peeps did rap
now a days they given me a heart attach
got these freaks in my sheets on the edge of my peak
the bounce of the ounce & I take this sucker higher
blown up in full desire
when I look in the mirror my face is getting clearer
sound the alarm cause my smoke got no filter
it used to mean something when you pray
today you insist it ought not be that way
can't even dismiss this earthly bliss with a time well spent in thought
one of Grandmaster Flash's own gets busted for murder
is it ain't no wonder we got to much time on our hands
now I can stand on my own two feet
while the earth crumbles this is no place no meet & greet
In my crib you can really rest
While the crazy world outside is in some kind of test
I write my raps on a crystal sleeve
knocking you to your knees as busy as a bee
on the flip side squeeze
chewing the tobacco so sound the alarm
got bones full grown as in a fat blunt
the chunks a little runt & it smells like a skunk
in the business of rap you got to go in for the kill
many sit back and take a chill pill
let us no for sure what's the deal
Yeah my crib is a second heaven
not a one stop shopping event at your local seven eleven
hit me with fat beats that jump
got junk in my trunk smoking fat blunts
take a walk with me through the passage of time
heros can be so fake & blind
now i'm done with this rhyme & that's fine

by John Ackerman

Other poems of ACKERMAN (625)

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