It's a long way to the grave if you feel slaved working a nine to five on a routine day. Kind of like a sitting duck waiting to get put out of your misery. Nothing left but memories and history. Flash backs on what your life was like but in hinde sight, right before you stepped into the shades of your limelight like, If I knew then, what I know now, Then I would have the means to turn my whole life around. My life has a tune and through my word you can listen to the sound, I'm a product of the Bronx from the hills to the south. I can still feel it in my veins and my mouth.
My hustles so hungry I can eat a whole house. I used to not care what other people were about, and it was what it was but it's not what is now.
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