2014 18 10
Black Crows Bigga Then Iggy Da Dawg
My Favorite Place Up Mountain high
It all comes down to perception.
Now you see it.
Now you don’t.
Some immediately get it.
Others never will.
The mystery of the search a continuum of the never ending.
Passed over more times than one could ever fathom.
Always relentless in her reproach.
Lifes blind eye takes that one last glance.
Hoping upon hope to finally visualize the complete frame.
The breeze passes through multiple mountain miles high.
Warm weather spirits run towards the sun.
Gas up the Lincoln.
Climb on in.
Gas guzzled for the fleeing ones last mountain view.
Loves tainted alabies hang up her laces once tied taught around the dead mans neck.
How many times will her insecurity blaze the path for never ending war.
Run for cover your head down low.
Rounds lightening speed splitting short hairs caught under your cap.
Nothing best said.
Hang up all your bad’s.
For when this species decide her slanted decisions be damned.
All you can do is wait for the incoming to subside.
Silenced now for a short short time.
Anything else will blow right on through your steel frame door.
There Ya have it.
Now caught out in the cold.
Your dick in your hand.
Just shut the fuck up.
There isn’t any other plan.
You knew what it was.
You couldn’t denie.
Just had to give one more fuckin try.
Now here you sit.
Surrounded by tombs.
Death speaking her ultimate last tune.
Any moment now.
Some time today.
Gotta get up.
Find another way.
Before she spots you.
Got nothing to do.
For damn sure.
Nothing left to say.
If all that’s not enough.
Damn Bitch wins again another day.
Try and Try.
To leave as you may.
But oh the fuck no.
She got that damn thang glued to da game.
She all to well knows Ya ain’t never goin away.
Speaks volumes of words.
She owns that part of your life and it’s horn dog ways.
It’s all an accord.
So goes on and on.
This passion play.
Your anger lasts only as long as your nose.
She got Ya locked up.
Hanging by your damn toes.
You dun Muthu Fucker.
Dats just da way it goes.
Her hand on her hip.
With her finger she signals.
Like a love sick pup you walk slip forward.
Welcome to love.
Ain’t it a Bitch.
One Beat Down Love Sick Author In The Complete Grips Of His Gal.
Some One Da Fuck Hit Up 911.
I’m Fadin Fast.
I find the following fascinating in the way that I relate coming from and growing up in the hood.
The gutter as it was.
As well I believe that some how this is my connection to 2Pac.
Not to say that I have come anywhere near the success of this man.
But that I feel him in a way that I know exactly where he was coming from.
Plus I love his music.
His way with the written beat word.
In a world outside the confines of the neighborhood I felt different to the side of lost in a world I was made to believe was the be all finality.
No matter how high I rose to and through success I always found it hard to relate to the new found ones as it were in this new life.