play off of an xzibit song that inspired me
a few more days and i'm a free man walkin'
i'm finally going to escape these gates
i'm done, i've paid my debt back to the state
and ever since they've laid this waste
there hasn't been much to much for me to do
so i've been sittin' here thinkin'
wishin' i was back home smokin' on the weekends
and i know that what we did was screwed up
but i guess i didn't know the worth of time until
i gave it all up
Man this place is a hard university
a murdered dead curriculum
concrete campus's i miss my home in los angeles
but worst of all i miss my boys,
i miss my turf, miss my girl
and i'm sorry that i made the mistake
to try to make a collect call back home
the phone stopped ringin' and i heard that
some otha brotha answered it
i think my heart stopped beatin',
that my luck could be this bad, man cuz this is bull shit.
Man when its your time to go
i swear to god that you will be the
last to know, this place is hard and
you'll never guess what i have seen.
I've seen some brothas sleep for weeks
become weak, and then become
physically emotionally unable to compete
Man there are trigger happy snipe gaurds
waitin' for us to jump off, happy to see
any of us try to get a head start
out of those steel gates
away from the cold embrace
of what has become home
for these past few days.
Poetry by Painful Profits
Read 1111 times
Written on 2006-11-08 at 03:20
Tags Song  Song  Song 
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It's my release date
i've been here two months, 7 days and 21 hot onesa few more days and i'm a free man walkin'
i'm finally going to escape these gates
i'm done, i've paid my debt back to the state
and ever since they've laid this waste
there hasn't been much to much for me to do
so i've been sittin' here thinkin'
wishin' i was back home smokin' on the weekends
and i know that what we did was screwed up
but i guess i didn't know the worth of time until
i gave it all up
Man this place is a hard university
a murdered dead curriculum
concrete campus's i miss my home in los angeles
but worst of all i miss my boys,
i miss my turf, miss my girl
and i'm sorry that i made the mistake
to try to make a collect call back home
the phone stopped ringin' and i heard that
some otha brotha answered it
i think my heart stopped beatin',
that my luck could be this bad, man cuz this is bull shit.
Man when its your time to go
i swear to god that you will be the
last to know, this place is hard and
you'll never guess what i have seen.
I've seen some brothas sleep for weeks
become weak, and then become
physically emotionally unable to compete
Man there are trigger happy snipe gaurds
waitin' for us to jump off, happy to see
any of us try to get a head start
out of those steel gates
away from the cold embrace
of what has become home
for these past few days.
Poetry by Painful Profits
Read 1111 times
Written on 2006-11-08 at 03:20
Tags Song  Song  Song 
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text