i was told that the pen will always paint a perfect picture
where inner worlds become to attached to cursive scripture
how i can write green fields and see the grass blow
or when my chalais topple, i can feel contents of the glass flow
to know now that the "who and how" craft grafted minds
when wackness crimes amass stacks of blacken rhymes
the art be permanent like subway tags with fat tip sharpie
little art be remnants of moments that are tightly off beat
then someone said "marry them with drum machines and records"
"make electronics become icon instruments to cream girls who naked"
"control the cash flow with signatures on ill contracts"
"ask back front money cause of the clause in the subcontacts"
but actions subdivide to where the written art spark the under movement
diggin out crates, afixiate wordplay, walls painted with the groovement
create forums with the witty, test the commercial ditty
silence the brainwashing through intergrate community
and soon to be the end of the perfect picture who changed hues
adding in the extracurricular eduction to brovado to pay dues
they say "for money you lose the swagger of the gift"
taking of the rap ills... skills wage on the spit
uplift to now begging on the critique of the peers
seeing golden spits bringing the author down to tears
and throught the years, this pen remained earless like Van Gogh
on for the audience and not a perfect play for the damn show
and i'm damn sho that i will stay withing my perfect picture
detached my world from cursive scripture to be a perfect mixture
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