He's a sleek saunterer, street wanderer, steep ponderer /
Speech powerful, each honorer reaches down in a /
Deeper pocket for meager profits that keep him stockier /

Instead of pizza maybe this time he can beef & brocc it up /
Heat hot enough, speeding through in a sloppy rush /
Without a beatboxer to bop to, emcee-er shouts to them /

Respect to the beggars but never says 'please drop some in' /
If ever he were desperate he'd get them to wish he'd rock again /
Your friendly neighborhood hip-hopper that needs to shop for stuff /

That cost him bucks but a lot of that tedious job is luck /
Thus, he never drops his cup or puts it down /
Or piddles when the sniffles come, the kid'll gun with crooked rounds /

So he pushes sounds around bound to tourist towns /
As is his, after this he'll hound another crowd /
And bust it proudly whether cloudy or the sun is out /

From the mouth he thrusts it loudly for the ones that's round /
Something found underground where the yuppies drown /
Pure poetry that goes to sleep for upwards frowns /

Like his city that's strikingly pretty /
Or hyper kiddies mighty giggly at night with their besties /
He might get busy for ciggies and a couple of pennies /

But he can't help but wish he'd fill a bigger piggy /
Bank, but thanks though, I needed that...


Sometimes I just wanna fly away
And I will never touch the ground
Maybe I will go to outer space

And I will never come down

Nah, never that.

He'll just float like kush smoke push from throats /
While he cooks dope-esque hood quotes for "good folks" /
He should go 'cause this sure cold was foretold /

But he's more broke so he roars notes for pure gold or stoges /
And that warm toke will warn most who mourn ghosts /
But that boy gloats with a hoarse hope /

Sorely spoken, the busker's own curative potion /
Is pure emotion that touches them with furious devotion /
Wondering what all of them think /

Falls by the brink of destruction, he exalts what he sings /
To a level of impressiveness, their coins become his /
And whatever he expresses then will only be rich /

If, what a concept the lonliest wish /
Which, underlines scripts when longing for it /
Shesh, what the sky'll do is draw in his chin /

To run a rhyme by slumbered minds and bring awe to these friends /
Single serving, wrinkled curr'ncy are some dollars he gets /
But simply perfect, him deserving never argues against /

Swiftly turning, gently swerving through the horrible mess /
That blends his purpose with a courage that gets bothered at best /
Yes, pair of double crosses guarding his chest /

So he'd say beware of double cross from others (from others) /
Pair of double crosses guarding his chest /
So he'd say beware of double cross from others. /


Sometimes I just wanna fly away
And I will never touch the ground

Maybe I will go to outer space
And I will never come down


He blends in as part whilst standing out as different. /
He feels the pain of his cohorts and in turn benefits. /
A roaming heart, under only sky, yet home /

Millions of living-mates but he hates being alone /
Free, donuts at dawn, slightly stale and subtly wonderful /
He smiles while he cries, eating. It's comfortable. /

A loiterer legally relaxing on his porches /
To smoke some of what's left in his collection of like four or six /
The mornings are hard, everyone's on their way somewhere, /

Away somewhere or already working in its warming start /
The metal of his coins are hot, palms sweat when he dumps them /
(If only they'd itch) plus some paper bills, something. /

A cardboard sign wielding couple ask politely /
If he could spare a nickel towards their trouble, he denies them /
They hear his wrist wiggle to say he's trying too, their eyes confused /

Framed so filth'ly, He's ashamed, no guilty, but he can't /