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letra de mic like a memory - tragic

chorus:
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

verse 1
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, h-ll in a cell, the taker took em’
to the top of the cage and threw his -ss off
mic like a memory; these are my past thoughts

chorus:

verse 2
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

chorus:

verse 3
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; d-nk 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 11 1/2’s you couldn’t walk a mile

- tragic

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