It ain't easy growin up in the ghetto, got the broke bills hid cause you owe bills in the crib. Watchin corrupt people unmind their own biz, I hope Pac & Bigs can feel this. They may be dead, but now their folks are rich, dead from chrome steal clips, but their soul still lives. Pun, Easy E, Bigs and Pac, why were you put on this earth to be gone so soon, what were you here for? Death scares me and the fear grows, I see the tears roll in slow mo. If I could write a letter to yah, it would go like this: Dear yo, everytime I hear your flow my ears glow, meet yah up there stylin with the beer flow, sayin "cheers bro." Bigs, E, Pun, and Pac...all rap heroes. On zero, Easy-E died naturally of an early death disease, aids put his breathe to ease. On one to Big, fuck the herd with guns. On two, Pac too bad yah got blurred with em, and third...I miss Pun. I'll meet you in heaven to conferr with em, all you guys spoke were words of wisdom. I remember when I first heard them and it made my jaw drop, rapped so raw without flawlissness. Their lyrics became fond, touchin magin with a microphone wand, sayin "fuck the law." I couldn't believe what I saw, the only true rappers are gone now, thinking of you's till the dawn down. I remember back in the day me and my friends would sneak out in the brace of dark to play in the park, and then get home to listen Pac and Bigs ace the charts. Suddenly God started playing with their fate art and allowed a 'playa hata' to rip their face apart. Now I'm walkin in the dark and have visions of Pac and Bigs prayin grace with God, St. Peters rippin the gate apart well God plays the harp. They surely left this earth too early. How come one has to take em away? They made the game so exciting how they con vowels, look at the game and I yawn now. Right when it feels like you got motivation in your palm now, God allows to drop the bomb now. Maybe I guessed wrong, Pac and Bigs influenced the best songs. Killing them made the game less strong. C'mon Pac, you know how killers think, and you knew you aren't always blessed with God. You knew as soon as you took your vest off your chest is soft. Only crime will spread, cause half the criminals are pillheads, makin the 9 mill shed. It chills my head, the kind that take guns to drill red and make the chills spread. Nobody recognized skill till their dead. Makes my spine go chiller the way cops would rather fetcha thriller than catch their killers. Shit, if cops minds weren't so shut, they could go nuts and quit eating doughnuts. Maybe if they didn't act so cocky towards jiggy versors, they could catch Pac and Bigs murderors. Shit it was probably some 40 year old low lives with no wives and couldn't take it, they wanted to take rap and rearrange it, take the best 4 and decide to make their face shift. They were probably in their Datsun out by 7-11 revvin their engine and decided to put 4 big rappers up in heaven. Everytime I light a doob sac or take a swiggy, I think of Tupac and Biggy, the 2 true cats gettin jiggy. The only 2 hot cats get shot at, and now they aren't coming back. G-O-N-E....can you spell that homee? It spells some jealous cat with feathers in his leather hat, took desperate measures off track, pulled the lever back and now they're forever never coming back. This is for Easy-E, Pun, Pac and Bigs, kick back, sit 'n' relax, let the tears crystalize. Banana clips being minimalized in a fist full of lies. I guess it's in the pistols eyes, I guess you die when the pistols ask why....let the tears crystalize. At least you got to crawl in the light, too bad you had to fall on the rise....let the tears cystalize. Your rhymes hypnotized, spittin mystikal vibes on the set...let the tears crystalize well they're still wet. Pac, Pun, Bigs and Easy still live on as another year dies, I guess it's the fear of knowing why, so I let the tears crystalize inside my eyes.
Reason for writing:
I think the poem itself is pretty self explanatory of why I wrote this piece.
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Birth sign: Gemini
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