So you think it’s yours,
the game which you play,
not remembering it was someone’s before.
She loves you good,
you support her back,
Give him back when you can,
taking where you can’t.
You swing for her,
you wing for her,
you even sing for her—
the hood.
Pistol puller
Out and about
Pushin' that P, paper and pride
Your gun works
Or ridin’ real low
U wouldn't like
Red dots for ops
Target’s in view
Recoil and a fang
Undercover in danger
No one’s jackin’ this
Karma's comin’ quick, keepin’ it close
C – Colombian Nose Candy, a rich man's nighttime treat.
O – Overlooked when lethality is brought up.
K – “King’s Sniff”, some say, those who don't know.
E – Every monkey, no matter how clean, can repeat a shred.
–– break ––
C – Can't get fixed? Try a different method, approach angles.
R – Regard for oneself. Falls once in the pipe.
A – A rush that you couldn't believe. Power to move.
C – Crushing come down. Needing constantly to re-up
K – Karma catches up like a horse in its tracks. At the morgue.
Never trust the Toy Monkey.
D eceptively loyal, bound to always return home,
O rganic in its loyalty, it was never forced,
G one for the moment, hour or day, only to return some night, likely soon.
H ot and excited, ready to run several miles,
A ngry at everything and nothing, but always oneself.
R egurgitating every meal, cleaning each nook.
E ven every cry feels healing, deceptively so, mind destroyed beyond sleep and calm.
O ld heads are here, they weather each storm,
X ondu is where they live, deep in an endless delusion, happy-ish paradise, where they sleep.
Silently I grind up my little white lie,
a little white meal for the soul.
That's-how I see it.
However, I don't see the color.
They say some can smell it,
but I only tasted it once, long ago.
Before I realize it, I'm fading.
I try to make a call, my hands are clammy.
I try to scream, no air,
but only vomit and my hopes escape.