Through the lights cameras and action, glamor glitters and gold,
I unfold the scroll, plant seeds to stampede the globe,
When I'm deceased, by then the beast'll arise like yeast,
to conquer peace leaving savages to roam in the streets,
Live on the run, police paying me to give in my gun,
Trick my Wisdom, with the system that imprisoned my son,
Smoke a gold leaf I hold heat, nonchalantly,
I'm grungy, but things I do are real it never haunts me,
while, funny style niggaz roll in the pile,
Rooster heads profile on a bus to Riker's Isle,
Holding weed inside they pussy with they minds on the
pretty things in life, props is a true thug's wife,
It's like a cycle, niggaz come home, some'll go in,
Do a bullet, come back, do the same shit again,
From the womb to the tomb, presume the unpredictable,
Guns salute life, rapidly, that's the ritual...

If you know what that means, you know me.