Greatest story never told

As a kid,
I didn't really do much,
I went to school,
All we did was played two touch,
in the break-times,
cigarettes were twos'd up,
with youths who abuse my shoes,
cause they aint new buck,
mum and dad didn't know about the part where,
you can't wear the clothes that your brother wore last year,
and in my class there were times i could pass tears,
I passed fears and learnt to become a fast brehr

cause when I came home all battered up and bruised again,
I couldn't tell my mum that they were picking on my shoes again,
and mum and dad,
they were fighting over loot again,
there wasn't any food and all the money went on booze again,
and I was young and depressed,
trying to live a life,
didn't want to talk,
all i'd ever do is sit and write,
either that or I'd be out,
trying to nick a bike,
with a couple cats that need the money just to lick a pipe,

sick of life,
too young to try and get a job,
sick of telling God how I'm longing to be better off,
and telling posh kids,
your rings blud,
get them off,
to tell the truth I felt like I'd said enough
we hit a phase where we all used to run with blades,
underage taking pills in the jungle raves,
we were living out the pain of our younger days,
broken homes, some abused and some runaways,

i don't sleep well at night,
well it's no surprise,
i still see dead friends when i close my eyes,
i still play back the scenes of my own demise
we were young trying lead out a soldiers life,
then i started hanging around with some older guys,
dedicated to devastating open mics,

we were fresh off the street,
and straight in it like,
jump on the stage and get boo'd because my skin was white,
next month came back, and still as white,
but when I rapped,
they clapped because my skill was tight,
my reputation was fierce,
i battled many men,
from the Berry to bury and so I buried them,

then in the cream of the crop,
I linked the Muddy fam,
in it for the love of the game and not the money man,
and we were working the caves,
and sitting bunning grams,
night came,
working the stage for half a dozen fans,

another chapter in the greatest story never told,
another meric,
we inherit
from the pen I hold,
we developed,
for a minute,
then the vision stormed,
and I was there throwing weed over prison walls,
we were deep in the street,
and deep poetry,
back when the Mud fam was Greyman, Moe and me,

selling trees from the morning til we hit the sheets,
coming up with new techniques just to show i'm deep,
then me and Moe we decide to divide the throne,
McBein came along and took the title home,
we put a voice to the underground,
called Lowlife,
Bein's a nice guy we wanted to help him grow like,
"keep the money man",
"it came from our souls like",
"put it in your business we'll earn from the shows right?"

we're not rich but we dedicated our art to love,
he took the money now his memory is hard to jog,
he talked politics,
talked like his word was Gods,
but at the same time,
he was ripping all his artists off,

I got disheartened,
didn't want to write no more,
i wasn't sure how to figure out my worth no more,
i go on tour to pay bills,
but i'm dirty poor,
i know he knows when it's time i'll burst his door,
and every rhyme that i write,
is rehearsed for war
fully versed i emerge with a thirst for more.

yeah theres no point in commenting if you aint read it all,

thats like saying nothing
and theres no competition in saying nothin so..

Don't stop writing. Ever. And record this please.

thanks man,

(toooshort)