Life is a fickle thing, you dream large and come out of a small thing.

Bright lights up above; people around trying to round them up.

Growing from a young child to a true man tried to do it all with just a motivational hand.

No bands, just one man, an army heart, stands by the gun hand, the trigger fingers ready, getting better by bigger and feeling heavy already.

What goes up must come down, but that can be squashed when you hit the top and refuse to work down.

Frowns all around trying pull you down, but keep fighting and work hard, no body mind and soul will rip you apart.

Indian but far from it, I’m a mix of things like a recipe you start with it.

Develop into yourself and understand the motion, we floating on top like we boatin’

But never showing, oh we over throwing and coming back with a hole in one, like a true champ, we are the chosen ones.

Every experience sheds some light on to your quest or to a place where diligent minds take flight, maybe a fight or 2 before they rest, good night.

I’m moving in a new direction in life and need to mature fast, snipe.

Wesley got nothing on this blade, its life’s sharp edge call it the switch blade.

And I’m getting paid but I stay grinding till I lay down in the earth, family in dismay.

Disbelief desire to succeed and feed my family with more than one tree.

Everlasting stand, I’m not moving an inch, I’m like a statue, Damn.