From Roots to Harvest

A modern day Edgar Allen Poe. My words are like the itchy

finger of a murderer grippin close to a Calico.

I Got a fouler flow than fiends that jump on a ounce of blow.

Release a smell similar to a pound of dro.

But yo I stay with the roots. Leftover spray

paint on my boots from plottin and casin the roofs. Jumpin

fences takin dangerous routes. Travel the road of Hip-

Hop tryna find the gateway to the truth. Dodgin

obstacles trying to prevent my fate. Shaky

mental state. Can't get my hand to hold the pencil straight.

Hear the pain from every word I drop in my breath. Keep it

original. I'ma rep Hip-Hop to the death.