This is a fucked-upped world that I live in.
The streets are filled with thugs that want to run games.
Just yesterday I was approach about buying a mink coat.
This person said that I know you are a classy lady.
You would love to be stepping out in a mink.
However, you can’t afford one.
Lucky, you are to be?
This coat is on sale for two-fifty.
I paid a grand.
This is your time to be (your) everything.
I know this was a gangster.
I told her thank you, but this coat may be hot.
She went off.
I told her to shelve it up her ass, insofar as
I am not to be had.
This fucked-upped world I live in brings forth insanity.
Last year it was a beautiful day in the hood.
I went stepping out to enjoy the scenic view.
Walking to the park, I saw many inconsistencies.
One was a man that was not playing his part in society wanting to get with me.
He was all vulgar and inebriated.
I felt no fear when I said you aren’t my type.
I like a brother that knows what life is all about.
It is not becoming addicted to the good life.
This fucked-upped world I live in makes me true to my life poetry.
I’ll sing a jingle and make a soul.
This is because in a war zone is where I write my songs about the troubles of the world.
I want to feel your soul.
I want you to enjoy my rock-n-roll.