Juniper

Inside my eyelids’ papyrus
I catch a glimpse of that which since has swept away to winds upon the hill
Lost Phife to the sugar, Prince to the pills
Yeah you know the drill: only dollar bill begets the dollar bill the

Starving reap the harvest from the mill to
Subtle shifts in the hue, balloons soon drift out of view
Might have lost that gloss invincibility of youth in the
Feud… the truth is in the blues, sweet

Afghani cream stay faded, just a little jaded
Grossly underrated to sophisticated
All the way to masterpiece calligraphy thе kid in me is strangely
Liberatеd due to nothing left to prove don't get it

Twisted though! Still spitting venomously mystic flows
Nomadic swordsman swarming through the boards again with
Storming hoards of Dothraki. Out there in Kyoto sipping sake
Down in Greece eating Souvlaki

Might still get tempted by that bump of yayo
Might just as likely say no head out to the farm and rock a smoked potato
With the crème fresh… take a stroll with his emp-
Ress, keeper of the fire in his broken cradle

One day she came to me and told me of her dream and even
Now the city streets lay coated in the sheen and as their
Bloated swollen bellies ho-heave and push
We snuck off through the juniper bush

Hush
And thus the dusk awakens for a new rotation of its being
Leaving much to the imagination
Even when the outline of the shadow is enough to keep you peeing in your sandals
Phantom stroll, know how to control the angles
Rambo, only with the ammo of a thousand year old oak barrel
Bearing poems of the one and only gold pharaoh's cold stone tableaus
Dome blown
Bone marrow showing on account of me throwing homegrown arrows at your homes
Battle with myself though just to own cattle
Rather right wrongs than condone the values of a lone werewolf society
Emotional sobriety is not the vibe for me
Silently invite the night in for tea to hear the symphony
Hints of mint linger in the timpani
Is there any skill in pimping bees?
Strip tease MCs, I inflict injuries
And bring you to your knees like Mohammed Ali in '63
Similar to trimming weeds in the evening breeze
Near the beach where i left my wallet and my keys
Part of me's a mystery the other half is history like Hitler's twisted dream
Listen G
Riches, green, and bitches ain't a wish for a kid that's just hit 16, nor 53