As a Kid i Grew up on Writin Graffiti...
Just block Letters on my Blocks,Was shitti...
But Know Blocks Add Up and Now Im Always...
Starin at the passin Burned up cart ways...
With my Paint stained hands twistin everywichway...
Some say the day of Graffiti has come to an end...
But As Transit Police still Run
The boys With Cans Write Again And Again...
It was my Crayon Box was full of scissors and homework...
Now my backpacks littered with pics of my latest put up...
My Rap Sheet Gains me Respect, Two Arrests and Many Charges...
A Misled Youth, Menace to the Troops in Blue, God Hardend...
Mastered What little respect is gained in Jailhouse Letters...
These Toys Only now Give me respect for fallen Pieces....
My Pen in hand was a masterpiece but now just Street Folklore
And Street Bits,n,Peices....

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We hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office
Aesop.