PIECE OF TRASH

yo ! my feel my piece of trash,

it was a marsh land, harsh stand, past dance,

on my destiny, wich is waverin on a plastic plank,

i was brn outta curse, result of a divorce,

my parents nevr gave me a fuk n left me in the road,

mud claded me, sewage flooded me,

the undergrnd lyf , jus shaded me,

i was bullyed throughout my life,

since my childhood , i was fuked 4 a loaf of bread to my mouth,

tears of mine did roll down bt nly to xtinguish my thirst,

my emotions wer killed n obsessions wer crushed,

my integrity was chopped n thrwn to lit as drugs,

hands of mine wer shackled, head was encaptured,

heart was beating n confidence fractured,

all the doors wer closed without ny gap,

a narrow escape, na ! fuker,

thers nt wer i shld ve got,

i made a resolution , though blinded by destiny i had a solution,

people thrashed me , abused on my face,

motherfukers! nw strange gonna shw ya al the aftermaths,

slept one day jus to open my eyes,

n determination of mine gave the manifestation of the sign dat i ve to surpass dis limitation of mine,

nvr opt 4 the simplification of life,

bt to jet back hard , n land on the station of competition, fukin this whore destiny,

without ny protection n alterin it so that it succumbs outta frustation,

this life gave me one oppurtunity,

the inferno upraging inside, infuriated to bring a legacy,

money , whores n power wld b in my destiny,

vengeance n murder of foes n negativity,

jus holdin the mic , pukin my indian accent,

on the millions of people , jus ther to,

catch the drops of my trash splash,

i ll take frm al ya fukers,

the cost of slaps , the abuses, the bullying, the deteriotation of chilhood,

the mercy u showed, ironically,

n yes honey! its kinda funny,

dat m holdin dis mic nw,

rappin abt the shit ya al did endow,

nw, m cmin to take ur authority,

jus gonna twist n bend it, n stuff in n ur assholes,

cuz m admonished, infuriated, incited, escalated n elated,

n i ll murder ur identities one by one,

placin thse on ur grave,dug out far away frm ur acqiuaintance s range,

cuz the piece of trash dat u had treated as, has jus become SKY STRANGE......

PEACE

Comments

  1. crazy balluFebruary 4, 2011 at 7:57 AM

    yo dude! u wrote wat i has suffrd up till now!! gotta rap this on every ones face!!!! btw this rap is fukin insane!!!!!!!!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
EYES CLOSED... I can only see when my eyes are closed, This turbulent world and its wretched soul, This orgasmic feeling and its crafted wounds, This impish belief and the cancer it blooms, I had had my eyes open , By the scintillations of her beauty, Produced on the celluloid of my brain, Time passed , moments died and then resurrected in form of memories, I had my eyes open, Suddenly, the lightning of change struck , Forcing to close my eyes in this unforseen luck, Then i realise where i lay, 6 foot long and 4 feet wide,they say, I can see the darkness of truth blanketing my way, Feeling the unexplained, i realised i am lying in my own grave...
Read more
Image
THE QUEST My fiendish mind weaves a tale, Anguish of time has prevailed, Earth painted with bloodshed, My eyes gaze dead bodies everywhere, Mutilated by the holocaust, Blinded by the storm of demise, Debris of callousness has infested me, Every puny escape is blocked, My soul, praying for the salvation key, Raking the flesh that I once embraced, Fiasco bullets piercing me constantly, A face so bright, ravishing and holy, Evanescent though, I finally see, Trailing the path, trampling the carcasses, Following the obscure, Would I ever succeed? The apocalypse has blanketed everything now, Look! I don’t even bleed, Lord is great, because my hope still breathes, Am I dead? The thought repeats, Yet the heart of my hopes still beats, Now, making me to flood with glee, I see the face again, And the quest of my salvation proceeds……
Read more
Image
MENTAL PRISON Cages of thoughts are decorated in the prison of my mind. The souls of my thoughts are the inmates of that prison. Each weaves their own story. Some proudly paint themselves as the villains in the mental portrait of their story, while others try to expose their innocence. These inmates, guilty (read evil) or innocent (read angel), are the ones sitting behind the steering wheel and driving the car of my involuntary or voluntary actions. I am urged by them, driven by them. Sometimes the evil and diabolical ones make me to do even more evil things. I follow them blindly. They take me to the edge of the cliff and reward me with their little push. I free fall, free fall in the abyss of pain and misery. But then, I gather my valour and realise that I am the master of my own self, I am the warden of the prison in which they live and thrive. I call my angel inmates and plead them to take the charge. They come with their open wings and helpful heart. They catch me a
Read more