okp, i'm working on the lp, aptly titled "the underscore"...and this is one of the many dozens of verses that didn't make the cut...critique
got kids i was blessed to see the rest deceased past laid to rest with me the message beeps no developments arrested speech count sheep nah, i don't even invest in sleep not even a wink death just caressed his feet as i run blocks gettin full on infested freaks and these biters like mosquitoes that injested deet they blow trees sip on this texas tea hypes compile their greatest hits like a best of me hate mail addressed to me i see no less than three a week address the beef so threats'll cease never, on mute or the deaf could speak please i'll move ya chest piece ain't talkin bout a pawn leave you gaspin for air ain't talkin bout a yawn run up on you with the weapons ain't talkin bout a con and ain't worried bout jail so i ain't talkin bout a bond that's double oh eight beyond years to come blocks is hot like they nearest the sun and they can't walk away so the fear is the run when it comes to an end so they hope it's a marathon and they sprint from the starting blocks straight to the ticker tape of their own garden plot see me i'd rather starve and rot and throw jabs waitin for the people guard to drop i know they'd rather see me barred and locked or stretched out, sketched out scarred and chalked you'll die hard waitin on ours to stop lord gave me the thumbs up we waitin on cars to stop