My hustle had begun since my birth
Some elders didnt know any better
Poisoned milk, poisoned environment
It has been a struggle to find myself
Am I finally coming to the end of this hustle cycle?
Situated at the bottom of the class pile
I looked up to the pinnacle of social pyramid
And embraced the drops of crumbs which fell onto my tongue
My yearn and churn is to touch and awaken
To implant fresh seeds in a barren earth
But my arms are too short to reach forth
Cause its a world of 'money does everything' and I lacked more
So for now, I have become a social writer, perhaps a commentator
And it is one of the reason why my anger and my frustration grows
Although my will is of fire - money made the world turn
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