 Ascribed to your mind's index My lines and checks have shined through your blinds instantly The sun's syndicate, fat as Biggie with no pun intended No pun intended to live, I pick up where we slated Run endless till I buckle and become winded And all the air from out my lungs slips into the sky like weed smoke My people's need hope and I'm the one with it It's open fire, cold as fire, hot as ice Rock the mic till I retire, die the son of Christ Becoming one with life and live like death is uncertain One curtain left and I'ma die with my gun bursting