Impusive

Sit and contemplate on my Own Condition,

In this Molded Prison, I'm the Oldest Victim,

Created from a Hopeless Mission that my Gnosis Envisioned,

A peaceful mind that went Broke and Missin,

Trying to redact acts from past Codes and Dictums,

But I end up relapsed with nothin to Show and Kick Dust,

Mobbin to [the beat] with a Flow and Kick Drums,

Never full of myself I don't Know The Symptoms,

Haters scratchin at us but never come Close to Evict Us,

Flesh transcended but my Soul's Conscription,

Doesn't allow for an escape or to Hold Commissions,

No Boastful Income, Yet I Loathe for This Much,

Money in my pockets to let me Float with Big Funds,

Throned Sin n Lust, Caution Thrown In Winds, Crushed,

Run with this Insipid Trust, I couldn't Get Enough,

Walkin like I'm packed with Hidden Slugs,

Hittin Cuts to see who was Pinchin Drugs,

End up as Decommissioned Thugs, Diggin Up Mud,

Fizzin Stuff Up, Til my mind's Ridden Of What Was,

Forgettin devils and angels Mistin my Rough Ducts,

Soon this Tin Man's Business will Rust Up,