In order for publication the press needs to give me three million

I’m not refering to the advance, because my book sales are building

The verses I write come from above, the master

You may be speeding up, but I’m much faster

Speaking to God is the only way to advance

The way my words move through the body is like a dance

I’m speaking to the soul that has been crushed

Repentence is a must, cause I’m engulfed in lust

Each day my writing becomes better, the answer

This is the truth; not a myth like the reindeer prancer

Thankful for all the love I receive; it helps me believe

I see Satan trying to deceive, but God’s grace is what I retrieve

Pain and sorrow only makes me stronger–what a threat

Dying a billonaire, but money doesn’t give you depth

The competition in this profession doesn’t exist for me

I eat writers like beef and broccoli–making history


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