Who cares who shot JFK I wanna know who shot Tupac,
who cares about the CIA's JFK Files release date,
it’s 2017 and I’m on a plane watching All Eyez On Me,
flying westbound outta the Westside of LA,
on All Hallow’s Eve and it’s all feeling kinda spooky,
because I’m on this plane with another Libra The Boy Drake,

and I don’t care who shot JFK,
I want to know who shot Tupac,
met Suge two times and got the feeling he didn’t,
plus when they hit Pac even Suge got two shots,

so who shot Tupac,
as I write with all I’ve got,
in red ink as my red eyes blink,
pen lines looking like blood drops,

all eyes on me,
until my eternal slumber,
but enough about the words,
what about the numbers,

75 million albums sold,
713 songs,
7 films that’s 777,
same as the title of the latest book I put out,

seems Tupac and I,
share a mutual obsession with the #7,
plus his last album Killuminati was subtitled 7 Day Theory,
not to mention the fact that Pac was shot on September 7th,

as I trace the early similarities,
between me and Tupac,
I think back to when I almost signed with Suge,
and I too feel like Tupac,

I too was raised in New York,
I too got put on in LA,
I too almost lost my soul in Vegas,
I too am both profane and a saint,
I too feel confused and conflicted,
I too both sin and pray,
I too write with a sense of urgency,
because I too know tomorrow isn’t promised today,

I too have found my street instincts to be risky,
I too have gotten it on at the Luxor,
I too know there’s a thin line,
between Love & Hate and between Enemies & Lovers,

trapped between over the top celebrities,
and detectives undercover,
and I’ll a pirate sailor sailing high,
but still I have to fight from going over,

oh Lord,
forgive me for I know not what I do,
and maybe the reason I feel guilty,
is because I waste my gifts on **** and *****,

choose,
your own adventure,

lost,
caught up in the trap that’s why they call it a trap,
winnin’ till when that window rolls down and you don’t know,
if it’s gonna be a gun shot or a camera snap,

I know what’s coming even though I don’t know when,

signing my own death certificate,
like Pac signing to Death Row,
see he thought he was just giving Suge his Music,
but really what he was giving him was his soul,

nobody know when they’re gonna go,
we’re at the table at the Last Supper till they pull our card,
which I guess is sickeningly befitting,
considering Tupac was shot in Vegas on Las Vegas Blvd.,

and all that’s left of him,
is this movie that I watch on this plane,
and what’s happened to our music,
lost Tupac and gained Drake,

and that’s not a shot at Drake,
I mean Drake’s cool,
I’m flying with him to Australia,
but Drake doesn’t have Tupac’s soul,

our music has been watered down,
now Hip Hop sounds like Pop Rock,
I mean how can you even compare,
Hotline Bling to Keep Your Head Up,

what the fck,

how’d we go from Black Panther,
to ***** cat,
how’d we go from I Ain’t Mad At Cha,
to Best I Ever Had,

and I’m not even mad,
I mean I respect Drake for sure,
he gets that money and has always been good to me,
but Drake is no Tupac that’s for sure,

but I won’t elaborate further because,
we all know what happens when you ask too many questions,
so I’ll just keep getting my money and writing my books,
& keep going to church without admitting confessions,

and I’m ending,
this poem right here with an RIP,
RIP to Tupac,
Rest In Peace,

another leader slain,
and I’m so caught up I forgot what I was saying,
even forgot where I was,
which is flying westbound on this plane,

writing verses in blood red ink,
feeling like Pac All Eyes on me,
wondering who shot Tupac pen lines like blood drops,
as I write what I think with all that I’ve got in ink,

ink as red as my red eyes that blink,
sending this poem off as a literary Hail Mary,
with California Love even those it’s Me Against the World,
Keep Your Head Up & congratulations Brenda’s Got A Baby,

and I know I’ll likely Live & Die in LA,
so I wonder if there’s a Heaven for a G,
& if there is Dear Mama I’ll meet you at **** Mansion,
& please know I Ain’t Mad At Cha but I’ve gotta go so peace…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

30/10/17

Yea so uh this ***** thought
She played me ruin me
But'll be still bailin'
Even if they lock me in the penitentiary
Worry me ?naw im care free
She must sense jealousy?
Hatin' for what? ******* ****
Since i let u in the yard
U used to be hard
Til ya put down to guard
Ya say im wrong n ****** another broad
But aint found nothin'
Just all in her feelin' and ****
Just cuz another chick likes my ****
Poetry is what i do
So why the **** would i play you?
Try to set a ***** up
But i caught ya on a slip
Choked up
now ya gaspin' for air
N if you die *****
I wnt even care and dare
Any muthafucka from ya family
To bring drama to me
Ill bring a graphic fatality in reality
My mood is chill
But fools take ya out ya character
So now the blood spills
Bodies chill i got no heart
***** we been off since the first start
Im yellin' **** life enticin strife
Now im stickin' to ya intestines like a knife
Ya dont know me **
I blaze a blunt then commence
To bust rounds
Leavin' bullet holes
Through out ya body killuminati
N ill be chillin' in Brazil with thick hottie
*****! !!!!!!!!



GUESS whos back?
Its the villian in black
Quick **** all chit chat
Run to ya homies n homettes
Go ahead and make a death threat
I wont break a sweat
***** been overseas
I been blown up by IED-s
In the army ya cant harm me
Like honeys
They always swarm me
Its soldier in me ya cant stop me
Pop me
N still be talkin' ****
Til im in a casket though a *******
My raps is hazard
Approach with caution prepare
For danger
I aint no stranger
To deaths cells thrive on pathways of hell
Turn ya skins pale sail yeyo
I takin' no ****
Its the dawn of new millennium
New years baby i gotta new lady
So **** the past i let my shot gun blast
Yea i always get the last laugh
Its gauranteed so go ***** n hate me
Yall under me im above thee
So bow down ya ***** *******
I gotta new queen
Mary Jane fixed with *******
Make my thoughts go numb mayne
So suckas beg in pleas
When the bullets speed freely
Mobbin figures
This for my real ******....