http://soundcloud.com/chrisg02176 <--check the man!!
when i spit i am mr. clean, fresh listerine,
flesh blistering nitro and glycerine,
no hype show, i'm whispering,
turning lights low,
no MC, no musician, no maestro,
i'm your speaker, but i'm asking for advice though,
when did you stop in my life?
i tried to find you, but where do i go,
with your tracks now covered in snow?
i trek into your jungle, with a map, a scroll,
faded, with gaps, and holes,
perhaps, crafted by a mole, who doesn't understand and wants to control,
who sends me on these hunts as parole.
i mean, months at a time under earth huffing coal,
years spent sheltered near the poles...
yet true, loving you isn't that hard to do,
when you never question me as a part of you...
you never sexed me, are we still going steady?
i respect you, but want you in my bed already,
stuffy, sweaty, sultry and nothing petty,
because i love you, and your love is heady,
if i built a bridge to nowhere,
and burned it during crossing,
would it be a statement or an offering?
like self-immolation in the garden you aren't watering,
or would it be another selfish slaughtering?
suffering, from the torment of the tottering,
searching through the trees trying to scope a forest, see broader things?
i'm trying spit on memes in this scene that are way too dry,
on beats you would bless, sounds that would make you cry,
i keep it rawer than some carrion and baby flies,
i pray you dig what I'm burying, but maybe i,
don't try like them other cats,
i still love you more, than kids love popping bubble wrap,
fuck it double that, i'm on my grind, bad breath and stubble back,
rappin past the ruin and the rubble crack,
plus i work like a yeoman, until our poem ends,
and where we're from, our home, sends.