come with it know, slacks
thats goods
and jazz surrenders
you on your back, alone
they keep blues and guitars
san fran, no lights a stand between you and peace

today, no progress
the city won't allow me a food
my civil rights, a cover up attempt of my disobedience
trained thoughts, residue of salt
slips through my metabolism
the deserts of war in my veins
pushed by federal crimes, poverty
add more neglect
the general deserves this mule

huck the missle, cup that breaks
white movement
across my wrists
irish cost of quarter of that yard

Make money;
Make more money.
Sell yourself to this world!
This world, run by thugs;
political puppetry.
Self promote; share and gloat,
On Facebook & the ‘Gram
To get more likes,
And fuel the adrenaline spikes,
You’re a slave to this world!
Doom and gloom **** you dry,
Until there is no more.
The drugs run out,
The emptiness overwhelms me.
But, there is much more...
So much more!
If only you would turn,
From the vortex,
Rebound with your reflexes,
And rage against the machine.
You’ll need to detox,
It may take some time,
But see the light,
Don’t turn in fright,
Rest, and follow thee!