Handled by Internal Grievance

“This is not a business.”

“I said this not a bidness.”

“Well give it to me anyways”.

Tired of hearing the same-old story of “Sway you ain’t got the answers.”

Following the pattern battered in cancer for the ears.

Years have passed and Chem 4 ain’t havin’ it.

I’m looking at Athens.

Munchin’ on liquid potatoes.


Let me say this.

Labor don’t match the payload.

Payload don’t match the halos across theses heads they think they have.

Air-balls is what they throwing.

Shade is what’s comin’.


The bill is always paid in full.

Nappy-ass scholars play a different game and snort adverted-payola.

Gone ahead and write in Crayola.

Matched in blood that run a day old.

Its all in yah mind…

Soiled yall trousers now.

Go plant a fire, I mean a tree somewhere.

“Well give it to me anyways.”

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