Late night Macca-run,
Busted up hand-me-down car
Rattling along the rocky road
With his warm hoodie draped around me
Like a toga with a Supreme sticker.

AC's turned off in traffic
As the night breeze is all we need
To enjoy this comfortable night
In his car, together.

I order a hot chocolate.
He orders a cheeseburger.
And we share the fries,
And I drain his pepsi
Until all there is
Is a pile of melted ice
And the soft pallet of knock-off cola
- in which both of us refuse to drink the leftover contents.

The cup is still warm in my hands,
And the car smells of fried food and cocoa powder.
His eyes are focused on the road,
While mine are focused elsewhere.

Soon,
He drops me home,
and ditches the trash.
And that was the end of our quiet late-night dinner-date.

I watched the world spin from the windshield of this old car.
I felt the slip of the bald tires,
My hands tighten around the wheel,
And I screamed.
I screamed but somewhere in all of that mess,
That chaos,
I knew I was going to be okay.
I knew I was going to live,
Despite totaling my car.

The sound of his words smoothly rumble
like the belly of a car
And roll off his tongue
like the strum of blues
And though they don't always mate
And smoothly flow
I love to hear those, Mastretta tunes
Come and go

Ticket, Ticket Everywhere
Money, Money Everywhere
Everything is Reserved
For the Money makers and Rich

Want to ride in a Bus, Car or Taxi
Or Travel in Ship, Train or Aeroplane
Use your brain, my dear
Please shell out some money

Oh Sorry, You dropped that ugly idea
Then what you are going to go?
Going to Circus or to watch a film
Want to go to a Book fair or a fete

Still have to Shell out some Money
It's not that funny, O' Honey
It's Business, Serious Business
Oh No, You can't even go to Public Park

Or the River bank either
Oh want to use Public Toilets
Do you think it's free?
No my dear, just Pay and Use

You need some Food, Nice Cold drink
Or want to sip just a glass of plain water
Pay Some Money, Money and Money
Money is the religion and the faith

Need a Pen to write your pain
Again I have to ask for Money
We Money monger are the rules
You Un-employed are the problem

Either pay or perish, that’s a simple rule
That’s a golden Rule, Follow it
Don't try to break it. If you do
I bet, you will fail and fall in jail

Born for this life
Raised for this style
Others don't get it
Running by miles
Not about speed
Style by intent
Rice by you, nice by me
I'm not tryin' to be
Quick like you
I made it what I like
So negative
Don't you know
What style is
It's all about one's thoughts
What I bought
What I see as great
What you see as fake
It's an art form
As one can say
It would improve
Only if I could choose
The one I use
I am stuck with this
All the limits
Make me sick
So limited
So limited
I am stuck with this
Rice has me glued
Limited from you
I am stuck with it

Everyones chillin’
Groovy tunes rollin’
Lowriders cruisin’
Then your loud *** comes along
Takin’ up space
Yours and mine
Wreckin’ smooth
Pushin’ your own groove
"Donk in charge"
No votes necessary
Everythin’ sighs
Bubble on the mic
Doin’ your business
All over the room
Box store cut-*** mule
Nothin’ but unwoke noise
Blow Bull Horn


© 2019 MJL