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Is The Pen Mightier Than The Nine?
God Saved Me From Myself
Is the pen mightier than the sword? Some days, I just don’t know. When I feel my haters and enemies closing in.
I empty the my Mont Blanc, writing line after line, only then, do they begin to disappear; coming for all my past sins.
It’s now been decades since I held my nine. God saved that punk. I was ready to do my time.
He dissed my bitch while we serving fiends, making money; a joyous occasion. I snapped in an instant, prepared to wipe out his future family tree, his entire generation.
No way homeboy could comprehend how far I had come. Already died a thousand deaths, my pain runs so deep. My tears his family would feel, another young nigga ghost, can’t help but weep.
Once I start squeezing, feeling the ice cold steel of the trigga. Satan is watching and smiles, nobody can stop me, killing even real nigga’s.
I never feared another man once, saw too many bleeding, he’s just a vessel breathing. My choir boy shell doesn’t reveal what’s underneath; a hedonistic heathen seething.
Before that day, if you see me coming from the shadows, remember me, the last motherfucker you see. My wish for u bro, the end isn’t quick…My prayer for you bro, is that you die slow.
The only nigga I feared was the demon I saw; my own reflection. A heartless, soulless one of a kind. To this day, I write as daily penance, the good Lord saved me from myself; the last day I held my nine.
