He’s not my brother, brother.
He’s a hurt her, not a love her.
I sent you the Shutdown, now here’s the Takedown…call it a rap.
The smack down has come to town.
Now it’s over get off the bus, it ain’t for parlaying,
it’s for workers, it’s not a hearse.
I’m gonna level you verse by verse.
By now, you’re not just a bad egg, you’re the worst.
GOD had more for you to do but you had to level your opportunities, of course.
Demons on schizo attempted the kill on you then Mighty Jehovah sent me to help you through.
You know what He said? “Clean up the rest, here’s your manna, now you’re fed.”
But you took a demon shower and ran aground without producing a flower.
Federales, brutalities, principalities, and the like bring their anger to the danger
but sometimes only hinder the fight in mere mortals
who are so spoiled they look the other way and passover the chance to do what’s right.
It’s my pedigree that makes you wanna flee.
You’re a bug. Your own hole you all but dug.
Warnings to the old man who refuses to season inside a van headed for the no zone without ozone.
Always up for what’s down around the turn with the chumps with been-there bumps.
He’s a clown without a frown.
Always grinning his way down.
If his smile seems creepy it’s because it is, believe me.
We grown ask, “But whatcha still doing winking, blinky?”
Your breastplate’s leaking, your resolve is weakened.
I excel at this spiritual life.
You took dives as your fight even on the weekend,
you show you know I’m right.
By Jerriè McGill
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