• in my life i've had alot of friends, that make my weekends but this dude was different he never thought of what is or what isn't so listen, just a regular day at the parking lot niggers talk about smoking pot, dude walk over his name is cyrus hes what i needed he was the climax, in imax we talken everyday, then he brought up the game he starts rappen his words made me snap and thats what i need to happen, i pretty much jumped in his lap then i said, "homie teach me to rap and, me and you will be trappen this shit by suprise", he took a deep sigh, till the dude say "fine" i got out my paper, and then he said wait here he took 3 steps away, then said homie fresh is your name i started writen bout my hood, till the shit got good and what i should, do with myself, influence which i fell for, how i got kicked out the door, my time on the b-ball court i wrote about snare, i rapped about despair i never stopped, i always bopped, i left tear in every spiral i use, i'd chug that booze to stay awake at night, curfues nine? id write till midnight me n chocalate would rap at the parking lot with the beat on max it was the bopping block the barking got hot, the walk and stop and listen to some rap when you were with us you never need a map, just lie down n take a nap then will i is came in the picture, his sound just hit your everything, now we had anything, then with a silent ding i gave them an idea, lets be a group me n chocalte and is wanted to see a studio and this thing got us closer garenteed more for, us and then we picked up our DJ from the sofa K.G.S.V., drove our careers like the chaffeur i didn't want it to be over my lyrical sound let chocalate get sober then he said he's moving to compton we all did our best but nothing could stop him the fucker did nothing but sin, i lost trust in him and i didn't give a fuck, he could suck shit all day, i stopped saying hey every time, he always had his way but motherfucker im from the westlake bay i cut our friendship ties, since he called me fresh they were all lies i told him fuck you and i said my goodbyes the fucker aint a rapper, he a crapper he draws, with his big black paws and he cooks, with his faggot cook books and he tricked me with his lyrical looks let his shit go to compton fuck him, let him, come back i'll stomp him mop him, around this lot and so much for boppen i want my old friend back the east coast chocalate rap in my life this just another flap in my mentally insane mind i adapt

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