Mic Like a Memory

I'll pen a rhyme about my life, every sentence true I hold the mic like a memory to get me through When demons visit me just to get me blue Hold the mic like a memory to get me through Mic like a memory to get me through Hold the mic like a memory to get me through When demons visit me just to get me blue Hold the mic like a memory to get me through This poetry is therapeutic when I use it Writing words fluid; excellently executed Before I knew it I was no longer lower than sewage In the south side of St. Louis while going to Pruitt Military Academy wasn't bad for me I went to school for lunch, in actuality No joking don't you laugh; you can quote me on my past Eating vitals; before you ate you opened up the bag The soggy fries were my favorite; then race quick To 3305 after school and play the game with My little cousin, or some days we might ball But ones thing's for sure; we watching Monday Night Raw And that's the bottom line; you smell what I'm cookin' Mankind, Hell In a Cell, The Taker took em' To the top of the cage and threw his ass off Mic Like a Memory; these are my past thoughts Back in 97' on my bike, I would roam the city Walkman headphones playing Bone and Biggie No chrome was with me; I didn't need that I stayed away from the dark side; believe that I'd shoot a fair one though, let me roll my sleeves back A two piece spicy known to lay my enemies flat With girls watching asking other people "did you see that Light skin boy put hands on that weak cat!?" But he wasn't labeled weak until I stepped to em Swung the right, right before I sent the left to em Unproven so I had to bring the test to em Plus I always had heart and don't accept losing Look and you can see the pain in my eyes Which coincides with the anger inside and dangerous vibe But I didn't choose to gang bang to survive Though some memories remain ingrained in my mind My temper was hot; over the years it's simmered down From the days I'd slap you around if I hear a sound When me and Rod used to wrestle with the pillows down Donk was a jokester; Dink was the midget clown Now I pen poems anytime I'm feeling down Demons in my head, but when I write I don't hear a sound I remember how I used to be home alone This was the 90's; I didn't have a mobile phone But the bi-state had me getting up and goin' Thanks to momma's water jug that was filled up with coins And sometimes a brownie from the corner store All I could afford, though my stomach always wanted more Nikki been gone so I gotta man up Stealing for a purpose but ending up in handcuffs No charges filed; I was just a starving child In these eleven and a half's you couldn't walk a mile