Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Dying To Live
This is my letter To Whom It May Concern
It’ll be my last message before I go away and burn
Just know before I leave I was nothing less than a hustler
A true go getter in this life for this butter
To get toast, your boy Akeem stayed hungry
Sleepin’ in cars, mattresses on floors, cold nights in garages
People thought I was garbage, ignored by the world
Life’s a BITCH; I was married and divorced from that girl
Not a suicide note, but my departure
From a planet that showed no empathy to this true black man
Real as the texture of my hands, prints on my fingers
DNA of my Kenyan father, a natural born leader
Poetry producer, music connoisseur
Came from humble beginnings, I was born in sewage
Born to make BOMB music, swept and mopped floors
Picked up other niggaz shit, anything to open doors
Believed there had to be more than what I had
Pops left moms and I when I was young, just a lad
Wonder if I felt my mom’s depression, tears on her cheek
10 months her and my pops separate, and none of ‘em speak
Her sadness became mine, and since then I knew
Regardless if my pops’ in my life, I would stand on my own two
Ya boy ‘Keem is no fool, I was born in pain
Grew up in struggle, 1st job at 14
Hustled hard, once a gapped tooth, snot nosed kid
Now a man, damn it’s ironic, writing how I’m dying to live…
(My Story)
It’ll be my last message before I go away and burn
Just know before I leave I was nothing less than a hustler
A true go getter in this life for this butter
To get toast, your boy Akeem stayed hungry
Sleepin’ in cars, mattresses on floors, cold nights in garages
People thought I was garbage, ignored by the world
Life’s a BITCH; I was married and divorced from that girl
Not a suicide note, but my departure
From a planet that showed no empathy to this true black man
Real as the texture of my hands, prints on my fingers
DNA of my Kenyan father, a natural born leader
Poetry producer, music connoisseur
Came from humble beginnings, I was born in sewage
Born to make BOMB music, swept and mopped floors
Picked up other niggaz shit, anything to open doors
Believed there had to be more than what I had
Pops left moms and I when I was young, just a lad
Wonder if I felt my mom’s depression, tears on her cheek
10 months her and my pops separate, and none of ‘em speak
Her sadness became mine, and since then I knew
Regardless if my pops’ in my life, I would stand on my own two
Ya boy ‘Keem is no fool, I was born in pain
Grew up in struggle, 1st job at 14
Hustled hard, once a gapped tooth, snot nosed kid
Now a man, damn it’s ironic, writing how I’m dying to live…
(My Story)
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
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