ight, here it is . . .

So often I come across my notebook that just screams to me; "I want lyrics"//
So the, i grasp my pen, wit rap in my blood, but the words not in my spirits//

Ramparts keep arising in random positions//
No words, no thoughts, no visions, no one to listen, a rappers' worst superstitions//

Can't find tha compounds for compulsive assuptions, my work would concave in un-ordinary directions//
Where's my insentives? Why are their so many complications? Its like a local emcee tryin to work for Shady records, constant rejections//

Battle bouts were checked out, i mean theirs no sense rappin, if tha rappin dont even know wut hes talkin about//
All dried out wit doubt, its like lookin for a fountain but whats tha use during a drought//

Been doin literature work since birth//
But cant find the words worth the insert for a decent verse to disperse//

This is tha kinda shit that takes a direct hit at ure spit, and furthermore, makes you wanna quit//
You think; "Shit, this must be it, i'm stuck in a 13 foot ditch, 3 feet thick and made myself fit and theirs no way out of it"//

Its like one night, I sat up to write, despite vivid sight from a lamp light that didn't work right, even on paper that was strobe-light white//
So i prayed I'd strike upon somethin tight that just might enlight this life but its like someone took my memory, and added the style and sufficated them into a vice//

No fun in writin no more, now I just look at the clock//
And when i write what i got, I just start then stop cuz i have no essential fundamentals in tha plot//

So ill-logical wit ill-tempers, lyrics created but burning in embers//
Only ashes, so no one remembers the members to render the words when their tender and solidly put together//

The image i tried to portray is on delay , like game pieces who are on tha right board but dont know how to play//
A day with no rymes to put worth tha say. . a day where my mind is at a lyricall stay . . Come to think about it, that date is today. . . end