April 2, 2019
There’s a Black Man’s Weed, on it to Jagoo.
Writing poetic rhymes to inspire a few.
Driving a mysterious Black Man’s Wish.
Writing faster to help Black Men’s Wealth.
Giving it all Back Means Writing, but only for mental health.
Maybe a community that one Blended Men With, and children whom others couldn’t stand bliss.
Can’t speak for the unspoken, so I drive low in my Bat[like]Mobile.
Roaring in motorsport for that douche stupid aggressive BMW appeal…
Now you know it’s real.
I don’t race.
My car’s too boujee for that pace.
I don’t test it’s fate.
#AMWriting to my M4 space…
Fast like my old 540i on the open I5 freeway.
Like burning rubber as my GrandPrix leaked anyway.
I remember leaving my Accord on the 26 highway.
Drove the Elantra to Vegas and back,
Now I’m repeating a story of how I’ve had 10 plus cars come and go just like that.
Yet the Best Memories We cherish,
Is stuntin’ Broke, Meanwhile We 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 hwhips just trashy and lit.
But still writing to that M4.
Don’t believe me just watch.
And read my literature for more inspirational words I plot.
I got a book to sell, give me another month it’s hard as hell.
However, driving makes it fun for real; a BMW spell to gas, break, and dip when I feel!
Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... “The world around us is our vehicle, what you'll read is how I digest it.” -Budd