Gangstar(er) Poetry

CENSORSHIP

From peasant to pleasant,
Your booty is the bass
Smack me, and I hit you back quick time.
Stop fronting or I hunt you down in no time.
Back down; you know you’re number
one in my book, no discrepancies.
You flee and I plea.
I’m the pea in the pod, with medusa;
the dust who lust in riches.
Lost in the mentality of
regalityhonesty is my quality.
Sex, money, and dice
are my favourite vices.
Feds attracted to my chain;
Chip on my
Jesus piece
So cohesive,
Blood on the
crucifix.
Big peace of mind;
Cheap piece of mine
Good girl so kind;
Fine chief of mine
Thief of time
Thief of mine
worth my dime.
So fine I kill time
to wine and dine.

Mess with me,
I split your
cabbage-in, and
put lettuce-in.
Talk sleek
get your
neck slit.
One two three
three to one
chameleon spit.
Hit you back with
a quick spliff.

Word is timing;
In tune
I pop my collar
I dream of dollar,
Big Poppa
Go harder
Go further
Talk louder, 
talk shit
get murdered

Snitches are bitches;
Snatchers are bastards
Gangsters are hippies
Millie the hickey; nice and
slow you give me splinters.

1990 minus one; word is born.
The Horn of Africa; I’m the
intellectual scientific conceptual writer.
Everyday is my day
I call it this way
I call it that way
From Norway, no way am I going
back there.

Here in my castle my rhyme is a
vitamin, a capsule for your muscle; 
my mind encapsulated in a bullet for
your murder.

I live my life like the world is mine
and if I fuck up I did it my way.

© Dotun Gb | Poems

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