but i can't think of any rhymes, droppin pens, spillin ink/
and every brain cell in my mind is flockin, stencilin me/
to outline who i am inside, flick stalkin thoughts out my sleep/
my foul lines are chalkin outlines/
figurin out south side/
then children pushin up flowers..for lettin their mouth slide/
no one sees what futuristic thoughts i have to suit the business/
i'm seein kids found knifed....this whole fuckin town's blind/
and i'm NOT sayin i'm a cop, i'm psychic, psycho, and blocked/
by overwhelming thoughts that flow through buildings to steal/
ESP, please see me through these older feelings i feel/
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and that's all so far. no beat yet either.
