Young Man

Young man at 16 just getting by. No plans or big dreams just getting high. Dope had him in deep like every night he wanted God but walking blind with one eye that's fetty wap. I bet he got, the henny stocked, the penny stocks, took him for his rent it's getting heavy cause he bet a lot. End it now could be solution to his problems. Solution is pollution when solution is the bottle, hope tomorrow never comes he owes his bookie for the braves game. 8 K is hella bread when you don't make change. Mayday his time is up he's out of luck. He's in the couch cushion looking but it's not enough. His pops gone, his cronz disease acting up he just wanna run from the emotion so he's packing up. He acting tough the bookie looking for his bread, he bust inside the poker game and point a gun straight to the head of another guy, cause he owed him money, shoot I owe the same guy money this ain't even funny, He need restoration. It's nowhere in sight. It's heating up the list is getting tall guess you could say it's fair in height. Parasites is how his skin feels. All this money ain't enough he just tryna make a meek mil. These pills and these bills are soaring in, his brother gave his life to Christ he's tryna make Him Lord of his. Everyday he would live inside the booth. Not the one for music. The one for breaking rules. That's what they taught him. For the longest hours he was seeking knowledge sitting with the priest like he was Nostradamus prophet stop it he was often honest going in, he said why I pray to you The Bible says through Jesus I can go to Him. It don't make sense see why we got these statues I got more questioned for you but you wack so I won't holla atchu. He left that confessional booth torn to bits, time to pop another pill red or blue Morpheus, felt like an orphanage inside of his heart, no ones home the lights are off. He's scared of the dark. He needs a new start, he try's to hold on all alone but grateful. He's grateful cause he's well know at the poker table, all the cocaine in his veins is cold and fatal Satan wants his soul he's tryna fold him like a stolen angel. Post a bail upon his soul cause he's so close to hell. On the stage he raps just hoping the don't throw tomatoes. He hides his pain in that emotions are an open tale not fiction, just a young man on a mission Tryna make it pop he's angry and destained a lot he can't align with Gods Ways he paces and he prays a lot he can't abide he refrained when he slanged a rock he wants to change for real he's just paying that the pain will stop.