Chorus:

I'll pen a rhyme about my life, every sentence true

I hold the mic like a memory to get me through

When demons visit me just to get me blue

Hold the mic like a memory to get me through

Mic like a memory to get me through; Hold the mic like a memory to get me through

When demons visit me just to get me blue

Hold the mic like a memory to get me through

Verse 1

This poetry is therapeutic when I use it

Writing words fluid; excellently executed

Before I knew it I was no longer lower than sewage

In the south side of St. Louis while going to Pruitt

Military Academy wasn’t bad for me

I went to school for lunch, in actuality

No joking don't you laugh; you can quote me on my past

Eating vitals; before you ate you opened up the bag

The soggy fries were my favorite; then race quick

To 3305 after school and play the game with

My little cousin, or some days we might ball

But ones thing's for sure; we watching Monday Night Raw

And that’s the bottom line; you smell what I'm cookin'?

Mankind, Hell In a Cell, The Taker took em'

To the top of the cage and threw his ass off

Mic Like a Memory; these are my past thoughts

Chorus:

Verse 2

Back in 97' on my bike, I would roam the city

Walkman headphones playing Bone and Biggie

No chrome was with me; I didn't need that

I stayed away from the dark side; believe that

I'd shoot a fair one though, let me roll my sleeves back

A two piece spicy known to lay my enemies flat

With girls watching asking other people "did you see that

Light skin boy put hands on that weak cat!?"

But he wasn't labeled weak until I stepped to em

Swung the right, right before I sent the left to em

Unproven so I had to bring the test to em

Plus I always had heart and don’t accept losing

Look and you can see the pain in my eyes

Which coincides with the anger inside and dangerous vibe

But I didn’t choose to gang bang to survive

Though some memories remain ingrained in my mind

Chorus:

Verse 3

My temper was hot; over the years it's simmered down

From the days I’d slap you around if I hear a sound

When me and Rod used to wrestle with the pillows down

Donk was a jokester; Dink was the midget clown

Now I pen poems anytime I'm feeling down

Demons in my head, but when I write I don't hear a sound

I remember how I used to be home alone

This was the 90's; I didn’t have a mobile phone

But the bi-state had me getting up and goin'

Thanks to momma's water jug that was filled up with coins

And sometimes a brownie from the corner store

All I could afford, though my stomach always wanted more

Nikki been gone so I gotta man up

Stealing for a purpose but ending up in handcuffs

No charges filed; I was just a starving child

In these 11 1/2's you couldn't walk a mile