deepundergroundpoetry.com
Letter to Myself
By the time you hear this, I’d have already become more perfect
Become a top-class gent, and I’d be probably working
With a pretty wife, nonstop romance and flirting
Maybe in Paradise, maybe we both are perfect
I’d have already written Best Friend or Big Brother
Say Dat Then, The Last Song, Keep It 100
Talking To My Diary, Love Ain't Enough and
About 20 other rap songs from deep inside my kidneys and my belly button
No more bad habits
An object of pride and bright in the eyes of my Grand Daddy
No more Prince, you’ll look at me like “That’s rabbit”
Not radioactive, no more whack rapping
No writer’s block, no dark nights – that Batman tip
Those dark nights that keep coming back, like the Last Dragon
That come back and they strangle so hard
They’ll leave you asthmatic, a sad-addict, yeah that happens
A lot of nights right now, when I’m just locked up in my room
Talking to myself, and I’m often feeling blue
With a couple thousand emotions bottled in a dude
Feeling pretty messed up, and I’m just caught up in a mood
Then my internal scars start peeling again
So I just rip em off and let emotions bleed through this pen
Even when empty inside, I bleed from deeper within
Til I run right out of paper and leave no ink in the pen
Ironic...coz it’s fulfilling to me
Mixing this pain and emotions with syllable schemes
It brings out the illest in me, the skill and it keeps instilling in me
The feeling I need to have some hope and still the belief
That I could still be around to read this
That I could be that better man, proud to be this
Spiritual being; that could be you
And still be around to see this
Become a top-class gent, and I’d be probably working
With a pretty wife, nonstop romance and flirting
Maybe in Paradise, maybe we both are perfect
I’d have already written Best Friend or Big Brother
Say Dat Then, The Last Song, Keep It 100
Talking To My Diary, Love Ain't Enough and
About 20 other rap songs from deep inside my kidneys and my belly button
No more bad habits
An object of pride and bright in the eyes of my Grand Daddy
No more Prince, you’ll look at me like “That’s rabbit”
Not radioactive, no more whack rapping
No writer’s block, no dark nights – that Batman tip
Those dark nights that keep coming back, like the Last Dragon
That come back and they strangle so hard
They’ll leave you asthmatic, a sad-addict, yeah that happens
A lot of nights right now, when I’m just locked up in my room
Talking to myself, and I’m often feeling blue
With a couple thousand emotions bottled in a dude
Feeling pretty messed up, and I’m just caught up in a mood
Then my internal scars start peeling again
So I just rip em off and let emotions bleed through this pen
Even when empty inside, I bleed from deeper within
Til I run right out of paper and leave no ink in the pen
Ironic...coz it’s fulfilling to me
Mixing this pain and emotions with syllable schemes
It brings out the illest in me, the skill and it keeps instilling in me
The feeling I need to have some hope and still the belief
That I could still be around to read this
That I could be that better man, proud to be this
Spiritual being; that could be you
And still be around to see this
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