He didn’t Make It

You use fake syringes and take revenges on drugs but
Nothing cleanses a scrub you cats write like jitterbug sluts
No bright praise just a trite phrase in a tablet of habits corrupt
So graphic and wicked like a traffic ticket even ties ropes
One cat wrote a book and hope to hook folks with his quotes
Wanted to penetrate their fame and ventilate their brain in hopes
But need good dome vapor on strong paper and lyrics that smokes
And could be hung up and sung corrupt on microphones like the blues
But no true taste it was loose like a shoelace untied didn’t pay dues
Had to be gravy true like navy blue and stick to paper like crazy glues
But his lazy crew of words didn’t sell, dressed in suit and Stacy shoes
He started a campaign that was damn lame thought his flow best
So he protest the system of wisdom point is his rhymes glow less
Blind pages are like crime rages madness of a scrub legit
Lyrics don’t snug fit books he failed went to jail as a misfit
For stealing, couldn’t make profit when he hip hopped it
Moral of this mandatory story is don’t get the big head
Price tag maybe that of a nice hag could get your wig fed
Wrong facts will make domes reacts simple and misled