Reflections on Identity and Self-Discovery: A Poetic Journey

Freaking again in Europe. Principe know better. I just hold my tongue. Niggas yelling out. Told her while I’m on my run. Happily way back as I hold my gun. I seen a lot of niggas died. They all look like me. Know your rights get denied when you look like me? Yeah, we both from different sides, but you look like me. How come the man in the mirror never look like me? Familiar? Piper kill you? Do you know yourself? Are you tending to your garden? Do you grow yourself? Are you living in the past? Do you hold yourself accountable for all that’s bad? Like you owe yourself a new life, A new bitch, a new you. What else? Some new goals, some new hoes. The new crew. You know them. You know us and them too. You know who everybody is, but who that shit? But I see niggas die, and I hate that shit. Smiling all the time. I had to fake that shit. I hate 20 shot. Sharing all this pain for the income I could gain. Great granny was a slave. Why would I ever cop a chain?