April 2, 2019
Off a Black Man’s Weed, on it to Magoo.
Writing poetically to inspire a few.
Driving a mysterious Black Man’s Wish.
Writing faster to help a Black Man’s Wealth.
Giving it all Back Means Writing,
But only for mental health.
Maybe a community that once Blended Men Well,
And children whom you can’t stand for shit,
Can’t speak for the unspoken,
I drive low in my Bat[like]Mobile Woken.
Roaring in motorsport as a douche, you feel?
Now you know it’s real.
I don’t race.
My car’s too boujee for that pace.
I don’t test its fate.
#AMWriting to my M4 space…
Fast like my old 540i on the I-5 freeway.
Burning rubber, remembering how my GrandPrix leaked all day.
I left the Accord on the 26 highway.
Drove the Elantra to Vegas and back,
Now rhyming a story of how I’ve had ten plus cars come and go,
Just like that.
With the Best Memories We cherished,
Stayed stuntin’ Broke, Meanwhile, Was out here careless.
Tank on ‘E’ without a fear.
Driving to the next party, stop at 7/11 for a beer.
FourLoko if we really functionin’ here.
Nasty ass shit.
Throwing up in my whip is just trashy but lit.
#AmStillWriting to that Mfoe…
Don’t believe me, just watch.
And read my literature for more inspirational words I plot.
I got a book to sell, gimme’ time it’s hard as hell.
But driving makes it fun, for real.
A BMW spell to gas, break, and dip when I feel!
-Budd
This Is Where BuddWrites 