Poetic

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Emanon Shakur

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No, no, no, no.
 No, no, no, no ohhh.

 Poetic justice, in a form that's rather abstract.
 Known for bringing substance, that's viewed by most as matte black. 
 Hard to see, can't read between the lines.
 They don't understand the plan, the gold that's in my mine.
 And out my mind, I paint pictures, that's rather vicious.
 Thru these rhymes, I mold sculptures, that's viewed my most as vivid.
 Nude Angels, endangered by they environment.
 Intertwined with dark forces, that's forcing the wrong requirements. 
 Take for instance, this bitch wit a beautiful voice.
 Pardon my French, she's a goddess.
 Niggas, never let her notice.
 Voice like Mariah, dance moves that mucho fire.
 Lyrics, she can write, but every night, feeling this feeling of being tired.
 Of going thru the motions, fuckin wit whack producers.
 Selling her dreams, but those things are said only to subdue her.
 Throw her off track, keep her lying on her back.
 While off the books, her featured hooks, those producers make they racks.
 Stacking, off her talent, but disrupting her potential.
 Over stand who u working wit, and understand they credentials.
 Never, settle short, for short term happiness. 
 If ya pops was still around, we both know this would not be happening.
 Tru OG, kept it solid, and he’d be clapping,
 At any man, doing his daughter, bad but then..
 When I woke, the joke was on me.
 Cause it me watching, while my daughters were be damaged.
 Damn.
 Crazy how, they future is affected by how l live my life rn. 

 Poetic perfection, distorted by the radio.
 Prophets, dumbing down sounds, to get streams thru ur stereo.
 And, on ur phone, I hear the moan, of the devil.
 In a red dress, dressed for ur death.
 But y'all don't hear me tho. Ugh.

 No, no, no, no.

 Keep up. Keep up. Keep up.
 Niggas can’t keep up, ugh.

 No, no, no, no ohhh!

 Keep up. Keep up.
 U niggas can’t keep up, ugh.

 Poetic prick, cause I brag when I spit.
 Yea I boast, when I toast, on the coast, wit ya bitch.
 Hitting the Carlton, in the Carlton, comma ritz.
 But ima Prince, yea I'm fresh, it's my will, shout out to smith. 
 To become crowned king, from what I sing. 
 It's only right, from all the pain that I've seen.
 I've been.. to hell wit that thing, 
 That perspire, hot fire, from his tongue is what he sling.
 In the night, he might creep, if u don't bless where u sleep.
 Peep, the poetic powers I possess. 
 Just, pay attention, to the knowledge.
 Pay homage, and I might bless, yes.
 It's only right, that I step.
 And come correct. 
 Then connect.
 With rapper-poets.
 Teaching truth to the youth
 So one day, they will know that.
 Success never ends,
 And friend or no friend,
 I extend much success.. To u.
 Even if u wish me the opposite.
 Sooner or later, we'll all see who the prophet is.

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