A Poem About Intellectual Property

I consider myself an artist, creator.
Visionary. Dreamer, writer, thinker.
And everything else in between.
The only person gonna be making money from thee – the above.

Here or any other on the surface of this Earth, is me.
For a fact I know. These are the only thoughts I know.
Whoever else is out there that may or may not be.
overseeing the affairs of this abode, this place we call home: will see to it that this is the case.

Not only did you pick the wrong fight,
you picked the wrong thing to fight about.
Cus when it comes to ownership, I don’t write about.
I get it done.

I’m ruthlessly creative. You better run. Not from me.
From everything you will become. You’re not as good as dead.
Cus I don’t make threats, I state facts. Other shit’s for the birds.
And you will never hear the end of it. Forever wishing you never did it.

Or thought of it. You think I’m playing? Just watch.
Not a dime will be made by you and any one else in your damn crew.
I’m sending all the F.’s to you. And that’s a fact.
No threats. Just facts.

Anyone that thinks they can just swoop in like a hawk.
Take advantage of the IP I’m creating in the dark.
These late nights? And sail into the sunset?
Is woefully mistaken. My g, you fucked up.

SHLOMOTION