to put a hit on myself

I'm a prisoner in the land where poetry and text meet
People missing my meaning but judging on my techinque
I know how to do it, I've proved it before, shit!
but altering my thoughts is spiritually morbid
A poet at heart and a lyricist second
my pen WAS lethal, now dull is my weapon
looks and sounds nice but through is the message
sacficing the real to forefill what you feel is a great text, it's
crazy, "nice multies and flow," that wasn't it's purpose!
I've seen the greatest of multies come from the worsest of verses
from hearses to surface topics, I'm done with impressing
I write to prevent suicide through open expression
wanna find my emotional well like Garvey and Kiko
and balance it out like Drakey and Intro, we know
that it's my fault it happened, got caught up in rapping
losing my stanzas for bars, shield of my heart started collapsing
Cuttin P of the past would peach to ya ass
cock eagles and blast at all evil and laugh
but now I just let em be, letting em slide
passive aggressive, tame by rules, wet in the thighs (pussy)
the old me still living only revealed in anger
restless, tired of being uinformed like rangers
shaking off the wax so the flesh of my words can breathe
observe, you'll see what's returning... some heard of me
...some heard of me

Cuttin P
Foreva