My circle revolve around the hold it downs n keeep it ups,
moving with a meaning, and i aint feeling buzeed,
i dont seek the fuss, fake love man are dealing,
cause my concern is gutters, political and creaming,
a tribute to the lost souls at the cross roads,
who flossed off fools gold, got pots of dirt coal,
but no grudges are held, when you serving the scale,
for better choices, cause no positives surface,
from outa the gritty curtains a little city emerges,
and sickly the witty murmurs start to out your furnace,
cause spirit is well thought, longtime conspired sort,
hard to establish yet easily distorted...