Virginia born and raised/ picked to prophet as cotton was picked, to profit the master of slaves/ The voice of the enraged, caged in graves/ A pavement poet, spoken from the streets where shell casings lay/ where innosence is slain, my pen pencils the game/ naming the many who couldnt weather the rain, so I came/ None could know my pain, so I paint this/ life .. hanous, as our chains became nooses that hangs us/ I, the humble pride of the black man/ holy tryin to catch the Ghost... like pac-man/ pappy left packin/ so son took trip up north rappin, for a rap of gat packin and car jackin/ and as momma and sister cry/ This is I ... hope and pride ... where truth resides .... None could ever "know" me ... i mean "No" me, yes sirrrrr The Man Himself - Click on songs to check out this premier artist... www.myspace.com/CheckMySwagger

Que

C.Mo