I’ve been waiting on this
To tell you off in a paragraph
Before you became missed
25 and I still reminisce
About a mother whose independent
Section eight apartments
And a daycare to begin with
People hate on you
But that ain’t me
Whenever I say something about you
I make sure it’s in a direction you can see
Critism is a bitch
when you ain’t ask for it
SSI is a hustle now
And you brag for it
Pack ya bags for it
I’m not crazy enough for it
With bottles of alcohol across your room
I moved out when I was nineteen
I think it was too soon
Because you fell apart without your oldest son there
Putting on this persona
Like you ain’t never care
I’m just too through with playing nice
Warm as fresh Kool aid
When you cold as ice
If you ain’t pop Percocets
You would probably smoke spice
Because weed don’t numb the pain
And coke is too expensive to gain
When rent is too high
Higher than you wanna be
Your 3rd son
Is a power wanna be
And I can’t tell or see
Who his real father is
But he ain’t a G
He ain’t from the seven-fo
Hiding all these years
And you would have never told
We would have never known
If foster family ain’t tell the truth
Your husband fell back
But you still moved
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