Scattered - CYNE

It’s like

Me versus tragedy.

I don’t know, man

Where do I belong in this?

I need to find home—can

Somebody help me?

Soul search is hard

Work, no pay and I hurt, I

Hurt—that's from open wounds.

But hope to blow soon

So I can stop bitching ‘bout the life and sing a happy tune

«Like eeny, meeny, miny, moe.»

Nope

Hip hop is lost, niggas kidnapped the flow and blow

Smoke to hear the little voice too shy to speak

Imagination run, run to Enoch beat, and beat

Life to a nigga either dead-asleep

The martyr and the fool, I’ll rep both in my speech

That’s Kwame in the house.

N-word, I can’t repeat

That’s fame on the hill.

Baby, view so sweet

A future ideal killed, ear to the street bump

Y’all awaiting that new shit, new shit

That tried and true shit, it’s true, shit

Ever since Time Being, it seemed that I’m seeing

Love and hate on the block, cock-kissing.

I’m fleeing

Play this when I’m back home (Back home)

But ‘til then, bless the catalog—I'm gone!

Can’t crash into it

Do it left, we rep and move it

Moving sideways?

No, never

Alright, some, like, so clever

They, they so all like

«They, they popular»

Can’t be popular

I want

Clean «Water for Chocolate» flowing out of the faucet

‘Cause sweets can’t sustain my thirst for first knowledge

Tired of the garbage, but sift through for honest, but

I gotta pay homage to those who rose polished

Each to his own, let’s rise to the occasion

The power of a monsoon break United Nations

Put it back together to help people wherever

Sudan was a genocide, but you said, «Whatever»

Turn a blind eye to those who hurt worst

And we wonder why these storms are now raging the earth

Prayers in the sky and a wish to find solace

Preacher man quiet and the poor spit—holla

Labor pains of these changing days, I change

My ways, and now I’ma wait for rain

Certain things will remain the same for better

For worse, and other things’ll wash away

Hey, hello, Africa

Stand up, tell me how are you?

Are you you?

Smile for me

For me, me.

OK, don’t forget

Progress.

Me, you, him, and her

Alert, work more or less

Freedom, one in music

Move it into Grey Matters

I guess

Everybody voting for Jack ‘cause he got high hopes

It’s misery plus beauty, me and Clyde wrote

Yeah, and for them sons and daughters

Walk upright.

Peace to Jacobi Porter

You had my back when it tried me

That was ‘95, dawg.

I still spit IV

Yeah, and that’s poison for them whores

The fast food rap stars—call ‘em Mandy Moore

Yeah, and to Diego Iborra

Wish you the best—it was love when I saw ya

And its Horror, a Rocky Picture showing

Bodies on the floor in ruins, niggas not knowing

I keep flowing fluid, «Running Water» poems, sketch

Hope ‘til my wrist break and pen’s overflowing

Yeah, the pen’s overflowing