What is distress in the land of opportunity
My life is a snitch because in the end she's always telling on me
I'm falling further into the abyss and its taking a tole on me
It feels nobody can get a grappling hooks hold on me
The further I fall the more I grow lonely
Even walking in my own shoes I feel like a phony
I got the cold shoulder from the only
Person on this earth who ever cared to truly know me

I'm many things but not the face of defeat
So if you need somebody to rag on you better not look at me
Because my tongue is a gun so I kill it when I speak
I'm not Muhammad the prophet
But the promise to the week
And in this world of black and white
Even the grey area is bleak
And if you use it to your advantage
You'll probably catch a beef

I'm Rastafari in belief
I wish Mama Africa was at peace
Stick to your guns but your clip will thin eventually
And when Death looms close all ominous and ghostly
You too will feel the same perpetual degree of kill me
The question is when will you crack
When will you start with the weeping and the moaning
When you realize that their's no one you call to help thee
Because in the end, all we will ever have is poetry