It’s hard to be myself,
When defensive, is what I am
When by myself, is what I’m trying not to be
When other guys want you, and don’t know what no means.
So I carry my knife…
I take a ride, for a ride…
I carry my backpack, with my metal in it…
I be at my job, ready to I.C.U somebody.
This chip on my shoulder, I know if it wasn’t there
I wouldn’t be where I’m at.
I wouldn’t be so distracted.
Old man calls himself my boss, but it’s him, I almost put in a casket
All black hoodie, black flaggin’ it
Stains on his black suit, black casket
All black vision, he’s still breathing
He might be slumped over, but his spirit, not leaving
I haven’t killed him…
*Ways I Get Out Of My Ways/When Writing Helps ~ Sakari*
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