Broken Syndicates

Uncertainty

Beat lines crack even tighter.

This condition got my stomach on ten.

His lighter flickers, distraction from the jitters.

But a nigga can’t take his eyes off those lines again.

Tight again, another pair of pipes clinched,

Id call him reckless but among his daily vestiges is counting paper and layin hands on snitches.

This bitch is done for. Four doors, one right to my left. She aint attractive anyway. If I dip, I can miss the rest.

I aint in the wrong but Im choking on air, let stand in despair the thrashing with tongs this poor sap and his wench.

All eyes are watching, lest they be made an example, peeled and prim.

I dont give a damn bout them, but this beating is creating too much tension.

A nigga never know when this shit can happen to him.