You know that smooth talkin' brotha, the man that walks da walk and smile because it's endless.
The kind that wines and dines like clock work.
Money being thrown to the skies, not making it a factor to matter.
The man that sized up the competition on hand.
The one that strive for nothing but the best and worked for nothing less.
Sweat and tears built into an empire with no walls breaking down, cause only father god can make it be known.
Raised on Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, to keep on walking and fighting for what is rightfully his.
No weapon shall form against hm shall prosper, for he is a man of confidence and strength.
He shall raise his head high with no lack of thought. He has felt the wrath and struggles of man.
The pain hindering through his veins as blood clots senselessly.
With a faint pulse that is almost forgotten.
Digging deep to find himself as he races against time to be the perfect one. The clock ticks as his heart beats to an unwelcome rhythm.
Standing tall and paving the way for the next generation to take his place, in the unforgiving land of heartache.
Without restraints he shall move forth unto his next triumphant task at hand.
Letting it be known that he is the man, My Kinda Man
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