 So yeah, basically, a lot of people ask me how life was then, so here it is...
My old home smelled of good birth
Boiled red beans, kernel oil, and hand-me-down poetry
It's brick white-washed walls, widowed by first paint
The tin roof top humming songs of promise while time is
Locked into demonic rhythm with the leaves
The trees had the wind hugging them
Loving them a torturous love
Buggin' when it was over and done
The round cemented pot kept the rain drops cool
Neighbors and dwellers spatter in the pool
Kids playin’ football with his hand and sock
We had what we got, and it wasn't a lot
No one knew they were poor
We were all innocent to greeze judgment
The country was combusting with life like a long hibernating volcano
With a long tale of success like J-Lo
Farmers, fishers, fighters, even fools had a place in production
The coral reef make you daze in reflection
The costal line was the place of seduction
The women walked with grace and perfection
And we just knew we were warriors too
Nothing morbid, its true
We were glorious
BOOM!
Then one day, it came
Spoiled up a ray, like rain
Like oil in a flame, it pained
The heart attack, sudden
Odder than eleven
Harder than a punch in the womb
Harder than the lunch you consume
For us, it had a cancerous fume, more lust
Men who made killing hobbies,
Selling pot fully like healthy livestock
It made tides rock with a diligent mock
Confused are the people, infused in the evil
Professed to eject, like Jews in the sequel, to win
It came in the morning with a warning and without
The hurting was a burden, only certain was doubt
A mythical tale, no soul knows well
Liberty went to hell, freedom called for shells
Fierce was the blow, keep your ears to the show
It appears Orwell was right in '84
Had big brother kill mother in her store
With all of us watching, we didn't lover her anymore
Peep my poem, mother was my old home
Good winners looted in my old home
Religion is burned down in my old home
Kindness is shackled in my old home
Justice has been raped in my old home
Murderers hold post in my old home
The land, bombers, ghosts in my old home
We got pistols with eyes, corruption and lies
Trusting snakes, and death without breaks
Suspicious newborns live in our horn
Used to the pain, rack bodies, not grain
Chopped limbs, not trees
Spend lives, not wealth
Seek vengeance, not truth, the craziest youth
Hoist pain, not plans, nigga', fuck your parents
Bandits will beat us down in my old home
Rumors are law now in my old home
Sedatives of faith in my old home
Rapers are praised in my old home
Demons dressed well in my old home
Infants are nailed in my old home
Spirits are jailed in my old home
Grudges grow tales in my old home
High roads of sea in electric haven
Outward labor beneath stubborn faith
Our farms produce guilty grub and
Our kids depend on shifty luck, see
Our muse is life for death is old, so
Don't blame me for truth I told, say
Good winners looted in my old home
Religion is burned down in my old home
Kindness is shackled in my old home
Justice has been raped in my old home
Murderers hold post in my old home
The land, bombers, ghosts in my old home
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