Picture Perfect, I Paint A

If You Walked By A Street And You Was Walking A Concrete And You Saw A Rose Growing From Concrete, Even If It Had Messed Up Petals And It Was A Little To The Side You Would Marvel At Just Seeing A Rose Grow Through Concrete. So Way Is It That When You See Some Ghetto Kid Grow Out Of The Dirtiest Circumstance And He Can Talk And He Can Sit Across The Room And Make You Cry, Make You Laugh, All You Can Talk About Is My Dirty Rose, My Dirty Stems And How Am Leaning Crooked To The Side, U Can't Even See That I've Come Up From Out Of That.

I'd Love To Go Back To When We Played As Kids, But Things Change. And That's The Way It Is.

My Life Is In Denial. And When I Die, Baptized In Eternal Fire, I'll Shed Many Tears.

No Longer Living In Fear, My Pistol Close In Hand, Convinced This Is My Year.

We Look At Death From The Selfish Side, Like: "that Guy Died. Oh, It's So Sad." Why Is It Sad? He's Away From All Of This Bad Stuff That's Here On Earth. I Mean, At The Worst, He's Just Somewhere Quiet, No Nothing. At Best, He's An Angel... Or He's A Spirit Somewhere. What Is So Bad About That?