a tone

[ChristO]

well, we come from a brutal place where the shooters pace about
in a ruthless race where the rules is waste a clown
and I can't apologize about it
whish I could bring back my uncle from the fallen
unsolved, unresolved, but won't bitch about it
this city is a haunted house with ghosts and goblins
politick'in with n!66az who got bod!es on 'em
half a' graveyard, cross country, the sirens lost 'em
wow, more often offin', livin' free, only pinched for narcotic deeds
if I made a camp fulla' killas, it ain't hard for me
but I'm at odds with the streets, they not even calling for me
all I wanted was the broad to be on it for me
my sign the bearer of the flow, a terror to a show
pit bull terrier to the bone and flesh of a foe
215 was the calling card, answer to a posed question
opposed to my lone presence, my vocal tone wreckless
split a bul [boy] like a dutch, ankle brace to necklace
then split a bowlegged witch, give her my kid for breakfast..

[ChristO]

...also, updadate on my ode' to the bul Huff, he died of a' o.d. the way dude was talking when I first and last encountered dude, he was on some soldier shit about keepin' the drug dealers offa' his corners. so, whether his death was a' accident or not, I spit what I suspected at the moment when I seen the li'l makeshift shrine in his memory.