Viewing: Chekov's Gun - View all posts

Champions 

They say I'm too old for this rap shit 
I'm just here to bring some balance to your actions 
went from stashing semi automatics underneath my mattress 
to under ground champion 
gangsta rap lit 
punishing you with bully rap clicks 
memory lane induces bad trips 
find salvation in the classics 
exit pain stage left, stay fresh, pray less but me and God still on a first name basis 
can see it on the prettiest of faces 
dedicated to the homies catching cases 
caged in the metal matrix 
you're in my graces on these pages 
without you I wouldn't have a chance to make it 
shape shift, spray clips 
weight lift the world off my shoulders 
give Destiny something to be proud of as she gets older 
money folder, surrounded by coffins and toasters 
name in lights, signing posters 
living life how I'm supposed to 
cinematic vision, not in the material sense 
but in the literal sense 
to have my spiritual blessed 

From Last Sons Album, Chekov's Gun