Grind Season — Poem # 6

Early in the mornin, sunlight’s lurkin/birds are chirpin, let’s focus in on a person/he’s gotta go to work but inside he’s hurtin/smile on his face, in his head he’s cursin/the shit’s not his passion, the hustlers he’s passin on the walk to the train are laughin/”we thought you was a playa, thought you was a poet/thought you was on your grind, what you got to show for it?/ you got got no dough, we know you got flow but when you gonna blow?/when’s the next show?/shorty left you for the dude next door? why you never home, heard about your cousin gettin raped/when you gonna clap that chrome?/we know you can write, spit from the dome/you ain’t that real hip-hop, we like that Weezy Phone Home.”/They talkin while he’s in the zone, he wants to get to the j.o. and be left alone/it’s grind season