Fragmentation - Grits

A mere fragmentation, chip off the old block

With the insulated tubing of a football sock, with stripes being levels of

achievement

Rolling up my sleeves, went and tried to get mine

This I found, fine: that I write rhymes for days;

please, no praise

The latest craze is what’s leaking from the deacon speaking freaking words like

the Miami nightclub

What’s all the hubbub, Bub?

Got all the bits and particles of my articles, piece in the puzzle

Searching for the reason to guzzle, drinking juice that ain’t theirs

Cold as ice from my stares

Fein broken-hearted fit in non-members credit card

They weigh in, swearing they’re gonna stay in

With my spiritual blessings I’m a spendthrift not a tightwad

Keeping pressure off my chest, peaceful sleeping like «Goodnight God,»

And slumber-chopping, lumbar-propelled, posture-crushing mainframe

Playing brain games to maintain, perpetuate the same thing

We are the world, we are the children

Throw your hands to the ceiling

These fragmentations with high standards, aspirations

Using vocal complications, keeping on-air deceit

Thinking to yourself, «They're so unique,»

Keep your mouth shut, you better not speak 'til my entire satieties satisfied

society

My variety is gaining notoriety

Ah, that was «Fragmentation» on your FM dial — W. F. R. A. G

Show me that emcee coming closer in comparison

Embarrassing himself, trying to stand within my sphere with metaphoric grind or

fantasised rhymes

Trapped in the biz of making hits with greatest misses

I’m a lyricist of past and current times, in multitudes hearing «Mental,»

Fools salute Christian complications in the way I administer medication

Calls at congregations to collapse the detonation

Facing the fragmentation of breaking down of spirit by supernatural chemicals,

reaction to my lyrics

How do you want it?

East, north, west, or south?

And let this rhythm see from Tennessee’s beat gang

They turned you out

18 Avenue, South Side, this style was compiled

A reminder — what you facing is simply bonafide Southern pride

Hails from Jacksonville, Florida, to Douglas, Georgia, to Birmingham, Alabama

Now Deville I reside

Some may say this style is simplistic;

they got it twisted, they missed it

Though they may dis it, there’s millions in ghettos listening

Tasting my vocal mystic, my flavours come in linguistics

My last part of a song ya’ll might find odd

I’m here under the assumption that some of y’all might find God

That’s the only reason Grits loads clips and shoot verses: to further the

kingdom and give the ode

You guys in hearses

Shot breeze, now outing thousand five from the beginning

The beat will fade out, but first you’ll hear it thinning

Complete thought is needed to follow this mental poetry

Three dimensional images appeal close to spiritually if you’re hearing me,

not with your ears but in your heart

Make connections with proper grounding, your chest is pounding from these

fragmentated-sounding, compound, round elements

Natural-born thrillers wrought in Oliver Stone flicks