smokin a black n mild by the banks of the nile;
learned as a young child, stone crypts don't git defiled;
so i -- FLIP.the.file, RIP.the.style,
SPIT.an.smile, CHIPS.git.piled, my SHIT.is.wild;
its.WRITten.I'll go on and do big things;
already copped a little spot in the valley of kings;
i hear y'all whisperin: "ayo, tutty, what he be on?";
but y'all' be airbrush murals, yo, when tutty be gone;
sometimes, i get the feelin that it won't be long;
but if i cross that line first i'ma finish up strong;
fuck a flick i'll carve my shit in a rock;
profilin like "what up?" wif my hand on my cock;
if you bury me, make sure i got my platinum ankh;
and my whole crew in the grave playin spades an tonk;
cuz they riiide with me like that, an if i gotta go out;
i picked the flyest casket, its gold, i'm finna show out;


** after he turned 17, tutankhamun's subject matter became more morose, and he began to speak of his mortality, almost with a sense of prescience.









peace & blessings,

x.

=========================================
** i move away from the mic to breathe in