I was out to bomb like Vietnam, but in this rhyme, I'm the prime
suspect
Handcuffed for stuff that I ain't hit yet
It seems the neighborhood block watch got open like a box top
Wanted they're props and called up the cops
While Momma Dukes is in the kitchen flippin
Trippin cause spray caps is missin and I left without permission
I got bagged with the darkest black marker I had
An easy target cause my tag is on my bookbag
As I was shadowed they musta heard the bag rattle
Tipped the cops off, and ran up, before I popped the top off
Got interrogated bout crews I never heard of
Got my face wrote on, and treated like I did a murder
Heard sermons, on property value and city workshops
Slapped with a fine, now in my record there's a new notch
The misdemeanor catcher comin back at cha
for the long ride, as we return to the wrongside
Out to burn, rackin paints by the sack to provide
tracks as we return to the wrongside
Art programs and more hip-hop jams, must arrive
as we return to the wrongside
More better styles and wack writers step aside
Aerosol ride, as we return to the wrongside
Newark, New Jers - Brick City we reside
Big up, to BS, as we return to the wrongside
Once more, we have in store graffiti folklore
in depth to score points, what this joint for?
All graffiti writers, we bring justice, to this
Art we take to heart but they missed
the actual Facts, paint with fat caps, artistic
gestures, flat or gloss be the texture
If you measure the amount or count TV, shows on graf
Galleries, droppin all the skill calories
They crackin down to make us back down
but we still wreckin, who remember King 67?
Peace to Insta, buildin