Open Mic: Music ft Woods

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  Im'a speak alot  resort to change, preach to god
     See i'm afraid of heights yet destined to reach the top  
First class restaurant, where we wished we usually ate
Yet without music we'd struggle to put food on the plate
Live abused in a state, so everything i heard'll touch
     Disturbed as such, click play to reminisce over words n stuff
     Listen to tracks as if they were ideally written for me
     Rappers speaking the words of ever piece of shit that i see
     See i sit here wild imagination in it, while you did it
     We even began switching up our clothing styles to fit it
     Switch to a bandana, base fitted hat im pushin it back
     Picked up them blue nike airs, matching my hoody n cap
     Internet programs but my production of mixin was fucked
     Began switching it up, followed dizzee's line began fixin it up
     Looking sharp on the mic, wrote about disasters n fights
     Desperate to proceed and leave my fam wealth after ma life
Felt good pullin in the cheques, and presenting the food
Picking up a pen became the perfect way of venting a mood
Suicides no option jus write, my conscience said to me later
Now this time the only cutting was from the edge of the paper
Began writing storys of my most spiritual thoughts
Stood on the edge of lifes cliff, but for the first time neverd consider the walk
Pulled out nas illmatic, on repeat on i played twice
Realizing that without music, nothing woulda save my life

Take it woods...

Wasn’t the brightest kid, dyslexic, got told I was stupid 
but pac saying “even the genius ask-es questions”, sure helped me get through it
when times couldn’t get worse, or when I wouldn’t get love, 
Hip Hop gave me a hand, no publicity for the good that it does 
mixed up with the hoods n the thugs, but the beats our colourless
no matter the race of the troubled kid, can ease the pain that the others did 
every spin of the disk, would take away images of a wince n' the fist
not just losin' but learnin' as i listened to the wisdom of spits
blow’s so horrific, could never remember how bad the beatin's would be
feared the heat on the street, but more and more each song felt like it was speaking to me
putting on the phones would be like rejecting the wrong 
not even hearin' the beat, jus' the routine of selecting the song
that perfect beat, that right line, that could solve the problems
put on that sad song, and felt like “hey, every bodies got’em”
how could they be behavin’ this way, felt like breakin’ his face, 
but all my favourite artists would lift me and take me away……..
writing out thoughts about abuse, hopin’ that bastard would die
puttin’ the pen to paper was a release that couldn’t be matched with a knife
shit half of the time, I was jottin’ into the wee hours
but mum didn’t mind, finishin these lines, didn’t mean a trip to ER
sometimes got hounded insane, like I was surrounded by chains
shit, even the happiest song, became the background to pain
when times come and your doubtin’, problems only solved with shoutin’
I put on wayne n’ think Music, and where I’d be without it.. 