my cross to bear.

Geno · 10-25-2014, 10:55 AM

This aint rap no more, its a ball nd a chain
Its my cross to bear, and i carry it for all of your sakes
This is edgar allan poe, his crow, the cat clawing away
Alchoholism, getting sobre, and then falling from grace
Its netcees.com, david llama applauding its grave
Its dot co, the ressurection, and what you call it today
Its God of War, Metts and ecoNamix all getting paid
A junkyard of rusty vets, a hall of fame market to blame
Its hush not giving a fuck, nika, bags, all of the greats
Pics, battle raps nd open mics, we're all part of the paint
I harbor your pain hardest, my flatline is one artist away
Recalling an age where dial up failure kept ur hardest at bay
Booted nd ud lose it, ur 16 lines of music wasnt thru being saved
When the bran nubian days were still brand new to you lames
What canibus could do to a tape, big words overused in debate
Trying to sound inteligent was as stupid then as it is doing today
When getting called out meant war, nd u swore u wudnt sway
Those were the days true writers had a league of their own
When a wet fucking writer had flow, nd not an ego to grow
When the machine was well oiled, now the diesel is low
Nd were all the same people, blaming a new breed cause its broke
I dont know, im reminiscing, what you been readings a joke
Iont feel like writing anymore, ima leave it alone..

10-25-2014, 10:55 AM	#1
Geno White Earl Join Date: Jan 2013 Location: Philly Cat. Posts: 12,354 Battle Record: 10-15 Accomplishments - Open Mic HOF (4x) Champed - Netcees Writers League - Write Week I - Write Week 8 Rep Power: 50036761	my cross to bear. This aint rap no more, its a ball nd a chain Its my cross to bear, and i carry it for all of your sakes This is edgar allan poe, his crow, the cat clawing away Alchoholism, getting sobre, and then falling from grace Its netcees.com, david llama applauding its grave Its dot co, the ressurection, and what you call it today Its God of War, Metts and ecoNamix all getting paid A junkyard of rusty vets, a hall of fame market to blame Its hush not giving a fuck, nika, bags, all of the greats Pics, battle raps nd open mics, we're all part of the paint I harbor your pain hardest, my flatline is one artist away Recalling an age where dial up failure kept ur hardest at bay Booted nd ud lose it, ur 16 lines of music wasnt thru being saved When the bran nubian days were still brand new to you lames What canibus could do to a tape, big words overused in debate Trying to sound inteligent was as stupid then as it is doing today When getting called out meant war, nd u swore u wudnt sway Those were the days true writers had a league of their own When a wet fucking writer had flow, nd not an ego to grow When the machine was well oiled, now the diesel is low Nd were all the same people, blaming a new breed cause its broke I dont know, im reminiscing, what you been readings a joke Iont feel like writing anymore, ima leave it alone.. __________________ *-A.bove T.he R.est*