Pound Cake remix

My life to you may be a criminal tale,

natural antidepressants upon on a digital scale.

Where preventing suicide'll have us sitting in jail,

experienced enough to know prescriptions'll fail.

Thanking God for the coping mechanisms I use,

still be scribbling my thoughts if I was getting no views.

Went from avoiding all my ruffian instincts

to more weight in lines than a Colombian kingpin.

Notepad as blank as a dead man's eyes;

Tomi said, "let's go studio", can't let that slide.

But can't be claiming activism in my sweatshop Nike's;

when it's almost Winter sales & I can get half price.

So I only got a night to make a meaningful verse,

scatter brained tryna think of the least simple of words.

I'm just jotting down the first thing that comes to my mind,

as I question my purpose & let the public decide.

 

Once lost in the moment, now the moment is lost,

hoping to God to switch places with my Omen's on the cross.

I'd rather swallow my pride - than throwing-up Cîroc,

I've come a long way from sheltered to Victoria Dock.

But am I just a crab in the bucket?

Began discussing my past as something that actually happened to retract my suffering.

So many trials & tribulations I'm recovering,

was living life not having enough but I'd had enough of it.

Still standing in a crowd alone;

where dark clouds up above are staying round when it's warm.

Everybody surrounding me on some Al Capone,

ceiling dripping in the kitchen of our council homes.

I used to dream of the vocal booth,

portray my city's story with my social view.

Making the whole World aware of all the local moves,

and turn from a statistic into global news.