re-done

[Quarter O]

Chrome spokes they windmill, so cold the windchill
on deck, the Celsius keeps the cup distilled
roaming passed landmarks, my past moments is stilled
in still life, can reel it and roll it in to film
I try to choreograph the wars into laughs.... The cornerstones
and bury the warriors axe and quarrels we had no morals and codes
just Forces stringed up over phone lines, deceased contacts on yo' lines
7 digits, that's 7 heaven, bone chilling cold vibes
when you forget and call cats no longer wit us
need more than a phone card to call, they charge you long distance
used to drink Tang to conjure the spirit of drinking buddies
used to put in for singles, a Tallboy, with wrinkled money
now niggas finger fucking triggers, say fuck them niggas, gun porn
the summer keeps them slugs warm, brothers keeper like 'fuck ya unborn'
they immature, niggas is insecure
reppin somethin cuz bitches is foul wicked and impure
keep a small circle, ya'll tampering with hoops of fire
no crew, just a boo, and studio time
plus a duo of mine got Judas signs, drew him the line
he smudged it, no do-overs, always proven in time
my crucifix blinding Lucifers eyes
I overstood my city at heights with a 'Views from the 6' vibe
strive to get all I ever wanted, removing the dire need
to speak foolish scribed in a lunatics diary.