say word yall

“ When I was four I pen god was born in New York
Back in seventy seven still got nan in the crescent
The effervescent of God’s presence is thick
Unlike vapor, escarole, extra roll, word to the baker
Peace to the hard workin ginger bread makers
Looked her up and down said hmmmm too much makeup
Poor music taste, ten years from being grown up
Rappers don’t blow up heads do
My name is Dwight Spitz, I’mma Sonic addict
I use to think it was merely a nagging habit
Born under a bad sign
I’m serious about this curse of mine
I strive to flip it into fine wine
Barely born a Virgo is what the stars said
Black not white, red all over though like Elmo
Twenty-eight years have passed I feel I’m peaking
I make music every weekend
It’s a chore, a fact of life
A labor of love
I get mad love but I detest the labor
And it’s wages, you know death
I’m servin life on this gift of God
Don’t forget your potholders my niggas ”


~ Dwight Spitz urges the people not to forget their potholders


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