D.Greaves

Well Veresed. Never Rehearsed.

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    GANGSTA SAGA

    Let me cut my arm so I can bleed...

    It started with one G,

    eight ball in my corner pocket,

    how could I stop it,

    so I decided to adopt it,

    when I got that good poo-nah-nee,

    from Stephanie,

    b'cuz I had enuf money

    to buy her a gold locket

     

    In '96, I graduated from junior high,

    I'm sittin' here eatin' waffles and grits,

    trippin bout how time flies,

    my timeline,

    in this life of crime,

    is underlined,

    by society's treatment of the much maligned

     

    So, I gotta climb,

    'till I recline,

    is this game no man resigns,

    damn, East Germantown drinkin' water got traces of alkaline,

    gotta think it's a grand scheme of the Illuminati's design

     

    Poison a black man

    until his psychosis,

    develops into a neurosis,

    of spritual stenosis,

    people, I didn't pay for the party

    I only host this

     

    Enuf blood flowin' in the streets

    that I could part the Red Sea like I'm Moses,

    so I take my demons in small doses,

    learned to aim right with my grip tight,

    don't wanna slip and accidentally Crip black roses

     

    I went from H.O's

    to full Othello's,

    from teasin' black girls on the corner,

    to makin' fine azz white ladies Dez-da-moan-a,

    sixty-two's, Big Eights,

    changing weights,

    from ounces used in the United States,

    to the International system,

    1,000 grams, one kilo equates

     

    Wanna rise up

    like my Godfather Buenos Morales,

    have moive starlets suckin' on my phallus,

    fly in my private jet, as a man of respect,

    to watch the Eagles play in Dallas

     

    24 hour blitz,

    on this grind shyt,

    sackin' cities like they Tony Romo,

    Kelli, pajaro cantor que nunca uso el telephono,

    never use the telephone,

    even when I'm home,

    cellie transcription is way too easy,

    shyt, I pay the Narcs to protect me, not grease me

     

    I wanna be chillin' in my Malibu bungalow,

    admiring my Michelangelo,

    can't go out like Noriega, Manolo,

    nah, I be sittin' next to Jim Lampley,

    watchin Pacquiao-Mayweather blow by blow,

    while my lieutenants make damn sure the River Cane flow

     

    I'm gonna have so many commas

    in my bank account that I could punctuate a paragraph,

    dead homeyz, Red, Black and Green at half mast,

    a nigga dynasty,

    like the Kennedy's,

    without the fatal head blast

     

    They gonna call me an iconolast,

    when I counter blast,

    rival cigg boats, splinterin' that fiberglass,

    leave them rich white boyz aghast,

    when I pull up in the marina with my watercraft,

    Alysia, 116 mill, 280 feet of sleek bytch,

    throw a switch, watch the chrome flip,

    stenciled on the back be "Bigz Dyck"

     

    I ain't tryin' to be Iceburg Slim,

    I put an icepick in the brain stem,

    of pimpz and 'dem before my momma can say Amen,

    yeah, baby Jesus was born in Bethlehem,

    I was grafted, from the black scum that lasted,

    on the bottom of Ghetto Mayhem

     

    Have a night with Kim K.,

    bomb her out like I'm Ray J,

    without the punk shyt of lookin' in the camera lens,

    let her rest, then spread them big cheeks

    in the back of my Benz,

    black Maybach, paid in full with pop rocks,

    have an ex-cop as my chauffer,

    yo, take it to the car wash get rid of the sex odor

     

    Brotha D'ee,

    tryin' to rap dat black history

    shyt to me,

    but that nigga be strugglin',

    I can make more than he make in his life

    from one morning of smugglin',

    fuck dat love shyt, he rip, like he snugglin',

    his billz be doublin' while I be with my Cartel huddlin',

    nigga can't tell me nothin

     

    Promised my momma

    that she'd neva be a squatta,

    my baby sister got Down Syndrome.

    best believe that I got her,

    hell is hot but the ghetto is hotta,

    I gotta deal with,

    spottas, slum shockas, Rasta shottas,

    Nigga Stoppas, police blottas, jealous plottas,

    pussy blockkas, how the fuck can I be actin' proper

     

    It's hard as hell bein' a Don Dadda,

    gotta cut in dem Mexican Niggaz from La Raza,

    can't forget dem Russians, the Domenicans, Jamaicans,

    Hatians, Africans and them old Italians,

    think they out of the game you be fodder,

    brain juice drippin in yo' pasta

     

    This here be my Gangsta Saga,

    I be flyin' to Nevada, makin deals in the Ramada,

    then fly with a fine femme to Granada,

    maybe sip saki, from titties in Osaka,

    knock prime puss out da park like I'm Jorge Posada,

    the economy is dry but drugs in like watta,

    Cali and the Medellin rumblin' in the jungle,

    like Ali and Foreman in Kinshasa

     

    I will live and die for the spirit of the Poppy,

    go out like Pac on a slab gettin' an autopsy,

    fuck it, my brother Keem be my proxy,

    nigga gonna do right by my seed b'cuz we tight like epoxy,

    yeah, I came, saw, conquered, showed maa'fuckkin moxie,

    only stupidity can cut into the potency

    of this dynasty

     

    I'M A HUSS-LA, A HUSS-LA, A HUSS-LA,

    ON MY TOMBSTONE BE ""MAY HE REST IN PEACE,

    HE WAS A BAD MUTHAFUCKKA"

     

    • 21 November 2011
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    Thanks for stopping by and visiting my site. I hope you enjoy the poetic works shared here.Please feel free to leave a comment and subscribe. You can also find me on Facebook under Darwin Greaves. While there, stop by and like my fan page. Listed under D.Greaves the Poet.

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  • About D.Greaves

    Thanks for stopping by and visiting my site. I hope you enjoy the poetic works shared here.Please feel free to leave a comment and subscribe. You can also find me on Facebook under Darwin Greaves. While there, stop by and like my fan page. Listed under D.Greaves the Poet.

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