Funeral

I got a lot on my mind, beyond exhausted

Forgot the words for what I feel

Is it the misery playing tricks on me?

Tired of speaking on it

Pains me to see my life fall apart like macaroni doodles taped to the refrigerator

Momma doesn’t love her son anymore, she ready to bicker

So I can be painted as the defendant

Removed from the household, Section 8 combusts shortly after

Wrote a book to a girl only to not have the same feelings returned

I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t need a soul

If I die alone I just want you know it’s what I prepared for

Livin’ life like I’m in a movie starring De Niro

Heat sizzles, instead of heists

It’s open mics that I break bank in

I’ll snap your neck with what I’m kicking

Don’t call it UFC

I’m an open book but I forgot

Niggas in my hood don’t read that often

Family eager to patronize and berate whenever I’m moving different or going against the curses set up for me

Though ya’ll proud of me, right?

Your own don’t even want you doin’ positive, never mind a society wanting you to become a house nigger just to keep their checks fatter

I learned from NWA and Jerry Heller not to sign a damn thing

Slavery in legalese, you gone need a fiduciary to run it to you

I rather die at my peak without being censored

Than to live life like I’m Tom in silence, which is more miserable?

I could give a fuck about death, not even the grim reaper can claim savage writer

That nigga eternal, yes I

Khali, what do you think it means?