My Own Cut (un-finished)

Am sick and tired of tryna make y'all pity me,

this game is unfair, tired of tryna make y'all 50 me,

The cake was for everyone but i aint get a piece,

figured the only way to get a piece was with a piece,

So i load and dump, until my competitors are disease,

Solving my problems with guns was like 5th grade maths, i had a C,

These bars am spitting got me locked up, searching for a way to be free,

God told me i had sin-bad and had to set sail across the seas,

Trying to get my own cut left me with a great fee to pay thee,

So am thinking maybe, This is my Legacy,

or is there a tendency of this being my destiny, don't know,

so am cooking up a remedy, and this lyrics is my recipe,

by the time i spit this shit, my problems should rest in peace,

or at least, feel great relief like when bitch release,