(some call it free-stylin')

by Zamounde the Footstepper

If I sang
Tears pang
Would I be better tomorrow
Giving up like weak hours in the night
My fears I abruptly bite
Looking for the inner strength that is no more
A whisper in a birds ear
That travels seasonally
To sit upon the shoulders of a stranger
Would it be foolish
A lil' too schoolish
To open text books in a fight
Unless quickly from the mental main frame
While participating in the game
On those who slang misery
But you'll never get to me
In this day and age
On this here page
Lies the truth of this mess
You'd be wise to keep up with the time
And give it your best
Than to say what I.Q. level you stand
In the eyes of the man
When you don't even know how bad it really it is
Right in your own backyard
You can be quick to throw rocks at me for passin' through
But for the oppressive hands that mind you
Give praise and smiles all day
Boo me off the stage for speaking consciousness
And hoo-ray mugs for uplifting nonsense with a strong beat
Yes it would be to your benefit to look at the back side of the mirror
Where there's no reflection
Devoid your made up vanity
Polished in the ignorance or your intelligence
Heated up in the cold corners of your mind
That spontaneously combust from rhyme
You better than the rest
Get more for less
While ghetto-innercity-plantation chained masses
Long to kick your upity asses
To put your donkey-jack butt back in line
I live in a duality of the classes
Frequently laid
Bad-mutha from around da' way
Stuck in a tunnel that never changes with the day
Crumbled walls
Bricked water falls
Eroding my history
Snow covered memories
Froze! But venting.......

(Dedicated to the recruiters for change)

Venting by Zamounde the Footstepper

© Copyright 1999. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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