Skip to main content

The prayer

I've got a lot of things to say
but first bow your heads to the beat let's pray
Dear God forgive me I'm a sinner
I've been a loser long time to be a winner
I gave up my dreams I gave up my goals
Ripped my shoes to pieces and I gave her my souls
Come to think about it
I got better , really I went harder
Knocking brothers of their poach like we playing snakes and ladders
Being a father figure to those who probably lost they fathers
I never met no cougar, but still I'm a mother fucker
A womaniser but I'm never acting lady like , cut if superman's a bloods then about to be a crips tonight (kryptonite)
Kryptonite, I couldn't even save a life.
Lord before I digress from this prayer help me stay alive
I was in the mood backwards spelt doom .
Woke up and found myself bleeding in the emergency room .

Son of the 1990's mistake coming this December
Follow @whoislanray on twitter for more information . Brought to you by madragon  (@bankyondbeatz) and Dreamnation  (@oladippo)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mixed

I've imagined different versions of you, searching for the mystery behind your essence. But imagination is a world unbound by reality. You were the first to make a dream of mine come true—just by being yourself. I'd read you every day, even as books gathered dust on my shelf. Beauty and pain are two sides of the same coin, Which is why I never judge a book by its cover—though sometimes, I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe the character arc is just too captivating, And I want to be a part of it. Today, you were a safe space, Welcoming, Everything I hoped you'd be from the outside. Layers began to peel, Revealing more of the real you. I'd love to create memories with you, For memories define us, And I want ours to be honest, Truthful. Your energy and cadence command respect. Yet your body language remains a tough read. This run is going to need a long stretch.
Post a Comment
Read more

BADAGRY

The night was cold, as mothers cried, fathers lost their pride And husbands, their brides, It was the 400 th year of tears in this land, It began in the 15 th century, The white devil, Freeman Gomez searched for my people and me, Bound in chains as the tears fell from the heavens, I was a thousand miles away from home by the age of eleven, They moved us from Vlekete - slave market  to Eyon slave   market The chains on my neck were heavy, my stomach was hungry, and my eyes were runny Freedom was the target I was in Ijebu 5 days ago Now in Badagry getting ready to be sold To the point of no return I shall go To survive, I had to be bold The market opened every two days And we were sold for guns, mirrors, cutton and rums, The chiefs were dancing to the white devil’s tune Like they were trying to appease the gods As they dragged us to the beach to board their floating wood I was famished Who knew that we would be the last of 18 million ...
Post a Comment
Read more

THIS IS NOT MY STORY

I stood still for 90 seconds, I had a preview of my future and a review of my past as I gazed with lost words. Memories have hidden messages you never deciphered. History is the best motivator; it keeps you inspired. It’s like we have to become adults to understand why certain things happened? Like why your mother left you outside in the cold and you hated her, not knowing she was being the butt of some other person’s joke just to provide for you. Or why your dad leaves the house early and comes back late to avoid responsibilities he can’t handle, and a wife he now hates. But what are memories that you can’t enjoy? They are the pains that give you those life lessons, which helps in understanding maturity much better. This is not my story but I just imagined it. What if you walked in on your dad as a child cheating on your mother and you never recovered still? How this lady who was skinny and had a nice ass was riding your dad became the horror flick you saw as a child, but you ne...
2 comments
Read more