How could a poem make a man lose his mind?
On the streets they’re losing it,
Turn around look at I, head-turner and say;
You’re losing it.
Siince I began to write poems I’ve gained so much ground.
They now all look at me and mimic words from a Tupac song,
And hate on me because I told them I love them so much more.
I don’t care if you have you eyes sat on an iron or ore,
I don’t care if you feel I’m an outlaw,
All I know is that I abide by my country’s rules,
All I know is I have a boss who loves me dearly.
Predictions are predictions.
To me they’re like repititions which scares a whole lot of you.