Poetic Practice

Everytime I try to do, something for you
It's like I'm doing wrong to you, ain't nothing right that I can do, I'm like a sickness, swine flu, with no medicine
There you go, getting into my head-again, there you go, telling me you won't give me head-again, if I don't head out and make some friends, make some ends, so I take my pen,

And do just that, make friends with my fans, make ends from the raps, but you still complain,
Nothing good that I can do, too young, too immature, too hood for you, well if that's true
I can totally understand why where at, where we're at,
Trying climb up the hill cause there ain't no flat, lands, just a bad, man, but no one can do what I can, I swear

Yet no one believes me...
Yet no one wanna tell me how they miss me, wanna see me, NOPE,
A year passes, burning like some acid, ashes, rashes, nasty, ugh, need some asses, in handy, instead of my hand be, which I don't even use,
Cause the paper I abuse, with the gears in my mind, my troubles are my tools,
Wreckless fools, leave me with no food

But I hunt, and make the best of it, trying not to mess with it, whatever suboncious thoughts are under my fitted

It is what it is, either I got the golden ticket, or I survive through my endeavors and learn to live with it...you feel it...

Poetic Practice, got me exposed like a cactus, no shades, everydays, like this,, survive through my endeavors and learn to live with it, ya dig it?