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.