For pistachioninja,
From days real young to nights too tough,
We've been in it with a mission to see through bluffs.
The seed's too rough, to leave bleeding in a pool of defeat or two cuffs.
All grown up with the worries of the world's retort.
I'd like to to take it back to before,
When we were shooting hoops in the street court.
Easter dinners and broken knuckles,
Thanksgiving living, untucked shirts and loose belt buckles.
Movie gore galore and high minded chuckles.
Hanging out in the hills after the daily grind.
Friday nights and Grandma's apple pie,
My time holding you and reverse when we cried.
Imaginary enemies to sparring in the grass fields,
Helping each other get past what our past yields
Getting classed real fast, we know how the tax feels.
My words written from the heart, I love you cuz and that's real.