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We don’t see eye to eye when I am under the control of “I-I”.
And as much as I would like to justify my actions and provide an understanding for my actions.
I do not believe that anything that I currently have hanging on my drawing board will provide enough cover to patch the hole that I created within your heart.
Does it really matter what’s being said once I take this shot?
Maybe…maybe we’ll find a resolution and come to a place of agreement.
Maybe these words that’s leaning over within my head will lean into something more meaningful.
Or accidentally become a sorry, like some Patch Adam’s sh*t
So, would it really matter what is being said once I take this shot?
I dunno but we’re about to find out.
Out, move or rather disappear from your presence.
Your anger just doesn’t seem justifiable, and I don’t think I even care enough to meet you at the table.
You claim that I am an entirely different person whenever I get my hands on this liquor.
But I believe that you just see one side of the door and think that you automatically know what lies behind it.
That there is some red door sh*t,
Sh*t, let me stop and attempt to prioritize my thoughts and approach this sh*t like I have been raised with some sense.
I ain’t neva been a rapper or maybe a singer.
My words have never flowed with such consistency.
Do I drink to hide the pain?
That’s an interesting theory.
Did your thoughts just conjure up this thought or has it been slowly marinating within your brain?
Let me stop acting like a poet, because I have never been that.
The only thing that I have been is a wondering man.
Man, or rather Mane is what I was called at a really young age,
Old age crept inside the crib and blessed me with fine silver strings that had been freeloading upon my head.
As my mind continues to downgrade itself like an onion that’s being chopped up to make gravy for some smothered chicken.
Tears don’t matter once you have finally reached that top shelf.
Old wounds don’t hit the same once that liquor has finally set in.
Therefore, wondering man can no longer be referred as me.
Call me Mr. Know Body.
Because by the time I take that final shot that’s exactly what my name is going to be written in black and white.
I can go for days these words are flowing so well, I would revert to the man that wrote 2.2 Seconds.
But would it be any fun if I did a copy and paste?
Okay let me continue,
I have been blessed from the crown of my head all the way down to the soles of my feet.
I recite passionate words just as good as I see them.
Wait, let me clean these glasses so I can make sure that my vision is pristine.
This here is all original, there is no copy cattin.
I stood ten toes down when I said to use me as a testimony.
I am blessed, I am grateful, I am wise, I am learning.
I guess I’m that canvas that just need more editing.
One shot, two shots, three shots, four.
It doesn’t even matter how this poem ends.
Just remember I wrote it.
