Here's a little Nugget on a pirate ship
sailing away to where all the pirate's sit
Give them a taste of this sleepy buck'a'roo
And by the way, I love you

Here's little Nugget on a itty bitty boat
sailing away through the muddy, murky moat
With little sleepy eyes and some mud on'is shoe
just remember that I love you too

There goes Nugget on his super duper raft
ridin' through the rapids going super duper fast
Closing his eyes and off he flew
and by the way, I love you

you were laid up in guadalupita
with camelia la tajena from la junta
and her tonto from la plata-
hiho-yo

shootin' tequila with pancho villa
jefe of the bandidos mc locos
- tweakin and twerkin chicas and cholos
and vatos ridin' with the vagos -

they were singing -

"con cuerno de chivo y bazooka en la nuca
volando cabezas a quien se atraviesa
somos sanguinarios, locos bien ondeados
- nos gusta matar"

you were kickin - breathing quickened
- bravo television tunnel visioned
to the tonto/pancho episode
en camera - exposed

pronto - camelia shot her tonto
dead - a perfect rose upon his head -
i like killin - she said

hiho-yo, tonto

we sang narcocorridos
all night long -

on the blue mesa.

r ~ 10/25/14

 *song excerpt from:
"Sanguinarios del M1” (Bloodthirsty Men of the M1)” (2010)
"Translation: "With “goat’s horn” (AK-47) and bazooka at our necks/Sending heads flying if anyone tries anything/We’re bloodthirsty, crazies deep in the scene/We enjoy killing..."

and ninety-nine ******* ain't one of them
I handle payments to child support
and visit all 25 of them when i can
I see my probation officer regular
got one box chevy with twenty fours
an old cadillac redressed
into low ridin' elegance
silk sheets and 60 inch telly
in all my rooms
I got cookin' skills
turnin' powder into chunks o' rock
make more money than my dad saw
in he's whole life
got ******* sweatin' me But
one prob
worries me
I got no future
cause eventually
I gonna catch a cap or a felony

I know, that I am mostly untrusting,
combusting with thoughts and was lusting for the attention that I know I wasn't gettin'.  

But whatever this is it's not set in stone.  

I think it's getting close to the time where I find a new home.  
I've released all those those attachments that made me feel less than I was,
cuz throughout all the *******, I've risen above.  

I'll show you love, without you making the first move.  
Aint nothin to do but continue ridin' on my life groove.  
You're in or you're out, but that choice is mine 'til I know what you're really about.  
Potentially remove you from my doubts and travel new routes.  

What the hell is this a competition for, it aint fun.  
It's like you're keeping score but don't even know the numbers, with that I'm done.  
This isn't the first time and surely won't be the last.
The way you run from your problems...yeah you really are fast.  
Try scoping out your true identity and then you'll see what's really meant to be.  
I don't know what it is you can't see.  
I think it's about time you set yourself free.

These are couplets written by Donald Trump and limericks and other Donald Trump poems "care of" Michael R. Burch (please note that these are parodies) ...

Not-So-Heroic Couplets
by Donald Trump
care of Michael R. Burch

To outfox the pox:
off yourself first, with Clorox!

And since death is the goal,
mainline Lysol!

No vaccine?
Just chug Mr. Clean!

Is a cure out of reach?
Fumigate your lungs, with bleach!

To immunize your thorax,
destroy it with Borax!

To immunize your bride,
drown her in Opti-cide!

To end all future gridlocks,
gargle with Vaprox!

Now, quick, down the Drain-o
with old Insane-o NoBrain-o!

Keywords/Tags: Donald Trump, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, humor, Clorox, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, mrbtrump, mrbcouplets



What REALLY Happened
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump lied and lied and lied.
Americans died and died and died.



Grime Wave
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is ******* crime ...
unless it's his own grime.



Trump Love
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump "love" is truly a curious thing ...
does he care for our kids half as much as his bling?



Tangled Webs
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Oh, what tangled webs they weave
when Trump and his toupée seek to deceive!



No Star
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.

Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll all be wearing lederhosen.



Raw Spewage (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a political sump pump!



Green Eggs and Spam
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I do not like your racist ways!
I do not like your hate for gays!

I do not like your gaseous ****!
I do not like you, Crotch-Grabber Trump!

I do not like you here or there!
I do not like you anywhere!

Your brain's been trapped in a lifelong slump
And I do not like you, Hate-Baiter Trump!



Apologies to España
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

the reign
in Trump’s brain
falls mainly as mansplain



Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"



Humpty Trumpty
by Michael R. Burch

Humpty Trumpty called for a wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Now all the Grand Wizards
and Faux PR men
Can never put Trumpty together again.



The Hair Flap
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump’s bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man’s wigging out, so beware!



Roses are red,
Daffodils are yellow,
But not half as daffy
As that taffy-colored fellow!
―Michael R. Burch



Trump’s real goals are obvious
and yet millions of Americans remain oblivious.
—Michael R. Burch



Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



The Ex-Prez Sez

The prez should be above the law, he sez,
even though he’s no longer prez.
—Michael R. Burch



Quite Con-trary
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trumpy, Trumpy,
fat, balding and lumpy,
how does your Rose Garden grow?
“With venom and spleen
and everything mean,
and my gasket about to blow!”

Trumpy, Trumpy,
obese and dumpy,
why are your polls so low?
“I claimed I was Cyrus
at war with a virus
but lost every time to the minuscule foe!”



Piecemeal, a Coronavirus poem
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

And so it begins—the ending.
The narrowing veins, the soft tissues rending.
Your final solution is pending.
(Soon a portly & pale Piggy-Wiggy
will discount your death as "no biggie.")



Viral Donald (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
That pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.



Viral Donald (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Why didn't Herr Trump, the POTUS,
protect us from the Coronavirus?
That weird orange corona of hair's an alarm:
Trump is the Virus in Human Form!



Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic,
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.



The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?

And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, IN HIS SLEEP?



The Final Episode of Celebrity Apprentice President
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald
said to The Donald,
"Just between us clowns, your polls are too low!"
So The Donald thought hard
then said to his pard,
"It's because I'm a martyr. The world must know!"
Thus Eric Trump jumped
from his obese Trump ****
to declare the virus a "hoax." (End of show.)



modern Midas
by michael r. burch

they say nothing human's alive
yet the Hermit survived:

the last of His kind,
clean out of His mind.

they say He relentlessly washes His fingers,
as dainty as ever, yet the smell of death lingers.

they say it sets off His corona of hair
when He blanches with fear in his Mansion Faire.

they say He still spritzes each strand into place
though there’s no one to see in that hellish place.

they say there’s a moral in what He’s become
as He fondles gold trinkets and cradles His john.



Mother of Cowards
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

So unlike the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land,
Spread-eagled, showering gold, a strumpet stands:
A much-used trollop with a torch, whose flame
Has long since been extinguished. And her name?
"Mother of Cowards!" From her enervate hand
Soft ash descends. Her furtive eyes demand
Allegiance to her ****'s repulsive game.

"Keep, ancient lands, your wretched poor!" cries she
With scarlet lips. "Give me your hale, your whole,
Your huddled tycoons, yearning to be pleased!
The wretched refuse of your toilet hole?
Oh, never send one unwashed child to me!
I await Trump's pleasure by the gilded bowl!"




Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
"We're a nation in need!"
But toupée the price, do we dare?



Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his "plan" stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!



White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
“How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he’s mean, cruel, unfair!”



Raw Spewage (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a garbage dump
in need of a sump pump!



we did not Dye in vain!
by Michael R. Burch

from “songs of the sea snails”

though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.

i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!

Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!



Twinkle Wrinkles
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Twinkle, twinkle, little "star" ...
Trump, how we wished you blazed                 afar!

Twinkle, twinkle, Groper-Cupid ...
How we've wished you weren't so stupid!

Twinkle, twinkle, Man-Baby "president" ...
In truth you're just the White House resident.



Americans have the opportunity
to greatly improve their community
with votes a-plenty
in 2020.
Dump
Trump!
—Michael R. Burch



Joe Biden, Joe Biden,
our future is ridin’
on you defeatin’
and hidin’
that cancerous lump
called Trump.
—Michael R. Burch



The Perfect Storm
by Michael R. Burch

Stormy Daniels
is Trump's worst nightmare—
a truthteller,
a woman without fear,
full of *****,
unimpressed by his junk,
that he can't debunk.



Aftermath
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Carmen Yulín Cruz is a hero.
Donald Trump is a zero.



15 Seconds
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Our president’s *** life—atrocious!
His "briefings"—bizarre hocus-pocus!
Politics—a shell game!
My brief moment of fame
flashed by before Oprah could notice!



March for Our Lives
by Michael R. Burch

It's not a moment,
it's a MOVEMENT
created to save
innocents from the grave.



Tweety and Pootie
sittin' in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
First comes love,
second comes marriage,
third barechested weasels in a White House carriage!
—Michael R. Burch



Three Trump Valentine's Day Poems

1.

If you're tall, blonde and pretty,
I'll grab your kitty.
If you're dark-skinned and short,
It's time to deport!

2.

I'll secure your southern border tonight,
as long as you're wearing white!

3.

If you're not
as hot
as my daughter,
beware;
prepare
for the slaughter!



Why did Trump endorse Roy "Score" Moore when Nostradumbass claimed he "knew" the Sludge Judge couldn't win? ...

Predators of a feather
flock together.
—Michael R. Burch



Kneeling Verboten
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Colin Kaepernick took a stand by kneeling;
now Donald Trump is reeling
as the NFL owners he implored
lock hands with the players he deplored.



How the Fourth ***** Ramped Up
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump prepped his pale Deplorables:
"You're easy marks and scorables!
Now when I bray
click your heels, obey,
and I'll soon promote you to Horribles!"



Trump Trumps "We The People"
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump fired Comey
to appoint a *****:
some pawn in his Kamp
with a big rubber stamp.

Out the window flew freedom!
Rights? You don't need 'em!
Like Attilâ the ***,
Trump answers to no one!

Do you think you have worth?
Trump makes you his serf.
He's your Lord and your Master:
you elected DISASTER.



Pass the Hat for the Fat Cat
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

If you're a Fat Cat,
vote for an Autocrat;
otherwise, stick with a Democrat ...
or get ready to pass the hat
for yourself,
doomed by that strange little pixie-fingered orange elf.



****** Assaulter-in-Chief
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald Trump Bozo
bopped Bill Clinton Clown on the nose: “Oh,
I’ll trump your cigar
with my groping, by far,
when I bounce interns on my Big Pogo!”



Trump's Donor Song
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

(lines written after it became apparent that Trump is not
"draining the swamp" but stocking it with his crocodilian
donors and political piranha)

christmas is coming, the Trumpster's purse is flat:
please put a Billion in the Fat Cat's hat!
if you haven't got a Billion, a Hundred Mil will do.
if you haven't got a Hundred Mil, the yoke's on you!



Alt-Right White Christmas
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump's dreaming of a White Christmas,
just like the ones he used to know
when black renters groveled
or lived in hovels
while he laughed and shouted **-**-**!



*******
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
Is a chump,
He’s an
Orange Heffalump.
His hair?
Made of batter.
His brain?
***** matter.
His “plans”?
A disaster.
His “position”?
Your Master!



Fool's Gold
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

THE DONALD has won (so we're told).
If it's true, worthless swampland's been sold!
But who were the buyers?
Poor folks who trust liars
and pay through the nose for fool's gold.



Bunko
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Agent Orange is full of bunk:
Tiny-fingered, he claims a big "trunk."
And his "platform"? Oh my,
I think we'd all die!
And he can't even claim he was drunk!

NOTE: Donald Trump claims that he doesn't drink alcohol, except when he partakes of Holy Communion. However, Trump insulted the body and blood of Jesus Christ when he spoke dismissively of his "little *******" and "little wine." He claims to be a Christian, but also said that he never asks God for forgiveness! Is he punch drunk or just pulling our legs about being a Christian?



De-Bunko
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There's something I'd like to debunk:
the GOP's not in a "funk."
The Donald, by choice,
is its unfiltered voice.
Vote for someone who's sane, or we're sunk!



Fooling Around
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald Trump-Bozo
cried, “Clinton Clown cheats with his yo-yo!
He plays fast and loose!
It’s clearly abuse!
Whereas broads love to bounce on my pogo!”

BTW, it's amusing that Rudy Giuliani is now Trump's surrogate, defending him from accusations of ****** assault and other improprieties by scores of women, when in a 2000 "Mayor's Inner Circle" video, Giuliani in drag had his "*******" schmoozed by The Donald, after which Giuliani slapped his face and called him a "***** boy." Obviously, Giuliani was well aware of Trump's reputation for grabbing and groping women without bothering to ask for their permission! Trump's outrageous behavior was a running joke among alpha males in his circle. In 1993, fellow bad boy Howard Stern asked Trump directly: “So you treat women with respect?” Trump answered honestly: “No, I can’t say that either.” And hundreds of chauvinistic public statements and tweets by Trump confirm that he doesn't treat women with respect, or minorities, or anyone that he considers "weak" or "overweight" or "unattractive."



Trumping Tots
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Things that go bump in the night
fill Herr Trump with irrational fright;
his brain hits the skids;
he shrieks, "Ban dark kids!"
Where's his self-lauded "courage" and "might"?
Is cowardice Trump's kryptonite?



Trump Explains Why His Hair Looks Like ****: It's Been Bleached By Drool
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

"Although my hands are quite tiny,
I have an enormous hiney;
so I stick my head in,
predicting I’ll win,
while everyone kisses it shiny!"



The Name and Blame Game
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

If you have a slightly offbeat name,
you'll be de-planed, detained, restrained, defamed.
Supremacists know pure white names are best,
so be prepared to prove you're among the Blessed.
(Woe unto those who fail Trump's Litmus Test!)



Trump the Game Plan
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There once was a huckster named Trump
who liked to be kissed on the ****.
He promised awed voters
if they'd be his promoters,
he'd magically fix up their dump.

Now the voters were dreaming of Ronald
and hoping they'd found him in Donald.
And so, lightly "thinking"
after much heavy drinking,
they put out, as if they'd been fondled.

But once he'd secured the election
Trump found his fans cause for dejection.
"I only love tens!"
he complained to his "friends,"
then deported them: black, white and Mexican.

Thus Donald fulfilled his sworn duties
by ridding the land of non-cuties.
Once the plain Janes were gone
he could smile on his throne
surrounded by imported beauties!



Egad,
what a cad;
the Orange Heffalump
scowls when he sees
a baby bump!
Like the Grinch who stole Christmas
(but every day of the year),
The Donald eyes happy
mothers with a leer!
―Michael R. Burch

NOTE: Donald Trump actually body-shamed Kim Kardashian for having a baby bump, saying that she was "large" and ought to watch the kind of clothes she wears in public!



Donald Trump Campaign Songs

Christmas is coming!
Tycoons are getting fat!
TRUMP says, "Take a ****
in some beggar's hat!
Beat him to a pulp
then run him out of town
if he dares object to
the MAN with the GOLDEN CROWN.
And if you're not a Christian,
nothing else will do!
But if you're just like TRUMP,
then may TRUMP bless you!
―Michael R. Burch



SANTA CLAWS is coming to town!
He sees Spics when they're sleeping
and Blacks when they're awake!
He knows that Whites are always good,
but dark skin is God's mistake.
So if you're some poor orphan
with slightly darker skin,
BIG BROTHER will be WATCHING
all blacks and Mexicans!
―Michael R. Burch



Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



Dark Shroud, Silver Lining
by Michael R. Burch

Trump cares so little for the silly pests
who rise to swarm his rallies that he jests:
“The silver lining of this dark corona
is that I’m not obliged to touch the fauna!”



Zip It
by Michael R. Burch

Trump pulled a cute stunt,
wore his pants back-to-front,
and now he’s the **** of bald jokes:
“Is he coming, or going?”
“Eeek! His diaper is showing!”
But it’s all much ado, says Snopes.



Mini-Ode to a Quickly Shrinking American Icon
by Michael R. Burch

Rudy, Rudy,
strange and colludy,
how does your pardon grow?
“With demons like hell’s
and progress like snails’
and criminals all in a row!”



Christmas is Coming
alternate lyrics by Michael R. Burch

Christmas is coming; Trump’s goose is getting plucked.
Please put the Ukraine in his pocketbook.
If you haven’t got the Ukraine, some bartered Kurds will do.
But if you’re short on blackmail, well, the yoke’s on you!

Christmas is coming and Rudy can’t make bail.
Please send LARGE donations, or the Cause may fail.
If you haven’t got a billion, five hundred mil will do.
But if you’re short on cash, the LASH will fall on you!

Keywords/Tags: Trump, Donald Trump, poems, epigrams, quotes, quotations, Rudy Giuliani, Ted Cruz, Cancun, Christmas, evil, democracy, coup, treason, treasonous, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, couplet, humor, humorous, Clorox, Lysol, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, America



In My House
by Michael R. Burch

I was once the only caucasian in the software company I founded and managed. I had two fine young black programmers working for me, and they both had keys to my house. This poem looks back to the dark days of slavery and the Civil War it produced.

When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.

"Manifest Destiny?"

I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.

This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.

When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.

I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.

We were wrong.
This is my history.

I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.

We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.

Published by Black Medina

Keywords/Tags: Race, Racism, Black Lives Matter, Equality, Brotherhood, Fraternity, Sisterhood, Tolerance, Acceptance, Civil Rights



Instruction
by Michael R. Burch

Toss this poem aside
to the filigreed and the prettified tide
of sunset.

Strike my name,
and still it is all the same.
The onset

of night is in the despairing skies;
each hut shuts its bright bewildered eyes.
The wind sighs

and my heart sighs with her—
my only companion, O Lovely Drifter!
Still, men are not wise.

The moon appears; the arms of the wind lift her,
pooling the light of her silver portent,
while men, impatient,

are beings of hurried and harried despair.
Now willows entangle their fragrant hair.
Men sleep.

Cornsilk tassels the moonbright air.
Deep is the sea; the stars are fair.
I reap.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly


Published as the collection "Not-So-Heroic Couplets"

Yo, I’m tha new ghetto, sworn in king
Mi Hollywood name is Mr. La La
I don't need 2 listen 2 no lo ****
‘Cause all ya barberin’, is just blah blah
I take wat eva hood rat, be wantin’ 2 ***
Just don't tri and steal mi hard earned bling

You're so friggin dope, well thank you, mi new sister girly
You remind me of an ex Brady, she 2 waz a dirtee little birdy
*** into mi crib and I shall show ya tha best time
Grab a smoke and choke on dat hot ***, it won't cost ya a dime

Ride-by just dun, bi sum kids on a bike, it seems
Leaves images I witnessed, carved into mi nightly dreamz
Wild streets aren't designed 4 everybody out there, but me
Dats wi they invented, plain old grey sidewalks, 4 free

I feel totally naked widout it, I'm not a bad **** dirtee turtle
Dats wat mi mama once said, but even I'm shell shocked, can’t ya tell?
But wat ya see, is wat it really means, or so it should
So yes, it's good 2 be tha king of tha whole **** hood

One day I spilt the beans , on sum loyal corner crew boys
I told tha popo, I know dats so lo lo, but they killed using one of mi toys
If you’re not encouraged in life as a child, like most of uz
You'll always be in a cage as an adult, so wats the big fuss?

Attacked Mr Bigs crib and forced his family out, widout any doubt
Nobody likes a smelly snitch, 4 they will be hunted down and blacked out
They chose a new leader 4 da team and told him, ‘Ya better be able to cope’
But, he waz a brother, who neva new how to tie up all tha loose rope

I came on back and killed tha whole **** hood
A true gangsta haz pride and doze wat he should
I just rode on bi, in mi lo ridin’ convertible Jaguar cat
Shot up and sliced up, all doze forma ****** of mine, and dats dat

You can't put her in a box,
the walls'll collapse each attempt
beneath her choice of locs to rock
Visions voices no relent
Of overcoming lifes struggles
Those with surviving
and those within
Ridin along while it plays out
She don't care to fit in          
She gon do it how she want
**** who & whatever she please
Shittin on every I'll wish
And she does it with ease

It was 1972 and my dad was sick.  Well maybe not sick in the usual sense of the word, but his hip was.  He was in Boston, it was mid-winter, and he was an orthopedic patient in the Robert Bent Brigham Hospital.

He had been selected as an early recipient of what was called back then a ‘partial hip replacement.’  It was called partial, because they only replaced the arthritic hip ball, leaving the original (and degenerative) socket in place.  Needless to say these procedures didn’t work long term, but for those unable to walk and in pain, they were all that was available at the time.

I was in State College Pennsylvania when the call came in from my mother, telling me my dad was in the hospital. He was in so much pain they had to rush him to Boston by ambulance and schedule surgery just two days from now. I was living in the small rural town of Houserville Pa. about five miles West of State College and there was at least eight inches of fresh snow on the ground outside. It was 439 miles from State College to Boston. Based on my mothers phone call, if I wanted to see my Dad before his surgery, I had less than a full day to get there.

It was now 5:30 p.m. on Monday night and my father’s operation was scheduled for first thing (7:00 a.m.) Wednesday morning.  That meant that if I wanted to see him before he went to the O.R., I really needed to get there sometime before visiting hours were over Tuesday night.  My mother had said they were going to take him to pre-op at 6:00 a.m. Wednesday morning, and we wouldn’t have a chance to see him before he went down.

My only mode of transportation sat covered outside in the snow on my small front porch.  It was a six-month old 1971 750 Honda Motorcycle that I had bought new the previous September.  Because of the snowy winter conditions in the Nittany Mountains, I hadn’t ridden it since late November.  I hadn’t even tried to start it since the day before Christmas Eve when I moved it off the stone driveway and rode it up under our semi-enclosed front porch.

My roommate Steve and I lived in a converted garage that was owned by a Penn State University professor and his wife.  They lived in the big house next door and had built this garage when they were graduate students over twenty years ago. They had lived upstairs where our bedrooms now were, while storing their old 1947 Studebaker Sedan in the garage below.  It wasn’t until 1963 that they built the big house and moved out of the garage before putting it up for rent.

The ‘garage’ had no insulation, leaked like a sieve, and was heated with a cast iron stove that we kept running with anything we could find to throw in it.  We had run out of our winter ‘allotment’ of coal last week, and neither of us could afford to buy more.  We had spent the last two days scavenging down by the creek and bringing back old dead (and wet) wood to try and keep from freezing, and to keep the pipes inside from freezing too.

After hanging up the phone, I explained to Steve what my mother had just told me. He said: You need to get to Boston, and you need to leave now.  Steve had a 1965 Dodge Dart with a slant six motor that was sitting outside on the left side of the stone drive.  He said “you’re welcome to take it, but I think the alternator is shot.  Even if we get it jump-started, I don’t think it will make it more than ten or fifteen miles.”

It was then that we weighed my other options.  I could hitchhike, but with the distance and weather, it was very ‘iffy’ that I would get there on time.  I could take the Greyhound (Bus), but the next one didn’t leave until 3:00 tomorrow afternoon.  It wouldn’t arrive in Boston until 11:20 at night.  Too late to see my dad!

We both stared for a long time at the Motorcycle. It looked so peaceful sitting there under its grey and black cover.  Without saying a word to each other we grabbed both ends of the cover and lifted it off the bike.  I then walked down the drive to the road to check the surface for ice and snow.  It had snow on both sides but had been recently plowed. There was a small **** of snow still down the middle, but the surface to both sides looked clear and almost snow free.

      I Knew That Almost Was Never Quite Good Enough

I walked back inside the house and saw Steve sitting there with an empty ‘Maxwell House Tin’ in his hands. This is where Steve kept his cash hidden, and he took out what was in there and handed it all to me. “ You can pay me back next week when you get paid by Paul Bunyan.”  Paul Bunyan was the Pizza Shop on ****** Avenue that I delivered for at night, and I was due to be paid again in just four more days. I thanked Steve and walked up the ten old wooden and rickety stairs to our bedrooms.  

The walls were still finished in rough plywood sheathing that had never been painted or otherwise finished.  I packed the one leather bag that my Mother had given me for Christmas last year, put on my Sears long underwear, threw in my Dopp Kit and headed back downstairs. I also said a silent prayer for having friends … really good friends.

                 When I Got Downstairs, Steve Was Gone

Sensing I might need a ‘moment’ to finally decide, Steve had
started to walk down to highway # 64 and then hitchhike into town.  He was the photo-editor of the Penn State Yearbook, and Monday nights were when they had their meetings to get the book out.  The staff had only ninety more days to finish what looked to me to be an almost ‘impossible’ task.

As tough as his project was, tonight I was facing a likely impossible assignment of my own. Interstate #80 had just opened, and it offered an alternative to the old local road, Rt # 322.  The entrance to Rt. # 80 was ten miles away in Bellefonte Pennsylvania, and I knew those first ten miles could possibly be the worst of the trip.  I called my sister at home, and she said the weather forecast had said snow in the mountains (where I was), and then cold temperatures throughout the rest of the Northeast corridor.  Cold temperatures would mean a high of no more than 38 degrees all through the Pocono’s and across the Delaware Water Gap into New Jersey. Then low forty-degree temperatures the rest of the way.

I put two pairs of Levi’s Jeans on over my long-johns. I then put on my Frye boots with three pairs of socks, pulled my warmest fisherman’s knit wool sweater over my head and finished with my vintage World War Two leather bomber jacket to brace against the cold.  I had an early version of a full coverage helmet, a Bell Star, to protect my head and ears.  Without that helmet to keep out the cold, I knew I wouldn’t have had any chance of making the seven and a half hour ride.  To finish, I had a lightly tanned pair of deerskin leather gloves with gauntlets that went half way up my forearms. Normally this would have been ‘overkill’ for a ride to school or into town,

                                   But Not Tonight

I strapped my leather bag on the chrome luggage rack on the rear, threw my leg over the seat, and put the key into the ignition.  This was the first ‘electric start’ motorcycle I had ever owned, and I said a quick prayer to St Christopher that it would start. As I turned the key I couldn’t help but think about my father lying there in that hospital bed over four hundred miles away.  As I turned the key to the right, I heard the bike crank over four times and then fire to life as if I had just ridden it the day before.  As much as I wanted to be with my dad, I would be less than truthful if I didn’t confess that somewhere deep inside me, I was secretly hoping that the bike wouldn’t start.

I was an experienced motorcyclist and now 23 years old. I had ridden since I was sixteen and knew that there were a few ‘inviolable’ rules that all riders shared.  Rule number one was never ride after drinking.  Rule number two was never ride on a night like tonight — a night when visibility was awful and the road surface in many places might be worse. I again thought of my father as I backed the bike off the porch, turned it around to face the side street we lived on, dropped it into first gear, and left.  I could hear Jethro Tull’s ‘Aqualung’ playing from the house across the street.  It was rented to students too, and the window over the kitchen was open wide — even on a night like this.

                  Oh, Those Carefree Days Of College Bliss

As I traveled down the mile long side street that we lived on, I saw the sign for state road #64 on my right.  It was less than 100 feet away and just visible in the cloudy mountain air.  I was now praying not for things to get better, but please God, don’t let them get any worse.  As I made the left turn onto #64 I saw the sign ‘Interstate 80 – Ten Miles,’ and by now I was in third gear and going about twenty five miles an hour.  In the conditions I was riding in on this Monday night, it felt like at least double that.

I had only ever been East on Rt #80 once before, always preferring the scenery and twisty curves of Rt #322.  Tonight, challenging roads and distracting scenery were the last thing that I wanted.  I was hoping for only one thing, and that was that PennDot, (The Pennsylvania Department Of Transportation), had done their job plowing the Interstate and that the 150 mile stretch of road from Bellefonte to the Delaware Water Gap was open and clear.  

As I approached the entrance ramp to Rt #80 East in Bellefonte, it was so far; so good.  If God does protect both drunks and fools, I was willing to be considered worse than both tonight, if he would get me safely to Boston without a crash.

The first twenty miles east on Interstate #80 were like a blur wrapped inside a time warp.  It was the worst combination
of deteriorating road conditions, glare from oncoming headlights, and spray and salt that was being kicked up from the vehicles in front of me.  Then it got worse — It started to snow again!

                                             More Snow!

What else could happen now I wondered to myself as I passed the exit for Milton on Rt #80.  It had been two hours since leaving the State College area, and at this pace I wouldn’t get to Boston until five or six in the morning. I was tucked in behind a large ‘Jones Motor Freight Peterbilt,’ and we were making steady but slow progress at about thirty miles per hour.  I stayed just far enough behind the truck so that the spray from his back tires wouldn’t hit me straight on.  It did however keep the road directly in front of me covered with a fresh and newly deposited sheet of snow, compliments of his eight rear wheels which were throwing snow in every direction, but mostly straight back at me.

I didn’t have to use the brakes in this situation, which was a real plus as far as stability and traction were concerned.  We made it almost to the Berwick exit when I noticed something strange.  Motorists coming from the other direction were rolling their windows down and shouting something at the drivers going my way.  With my helmet on, and the noise from the truck in front of me drowning everything else out, I couldn’t make out what they were trying to say.  I could tell they were serious though, by the way they leaned out their windows and shouted up at the driver in the truck I was following.

Then I saw it.  Up ahead in the distance it looked like a parade was happening in the middle of the highway. There were multi-colored flashing lights everywhere.  Traffic started to slow down until it was at a crawl, and then finally stopped.  A state police car came up the apron going the wrong way on our side and told everyone in our long line that a semi-truck had ‘jack-knifed’, and flipped over on its side, and it was now totally blocking the East bound lanes.  

The exit for Berwick was only two hundred yards ahead, and if you got over onto the apron you could make it off the highway.  Off the highway to what I wondered, but I knew I couldn’t sit out here in the cold and snow with my engine idling. It would eventually overheat (being air-cooled) even at these low temperatures which could cause mechanical problems that I’d never get fixed in time to see my dad.

I pulled over onto the apron and rode slowly up the high ramp to the right, and followed the sign at the top to Berwick.  The access road off the ramp was much worse than the highway had been, and I slipped and slid all the way into town.  I took one last look back at the menagerie of lights from the medivac ambulances and tow trucks that were now all over the scene below.  The lights were all red and blue and gold, and in a strange twisted and beautiful way, it reminded me of the ride to church for midnight mass on Christmas Eve.

                  Christmas Eve With My Mom And My Dad

In Berwick, the only thing I saw that was open was the Bulldog Lounge.  It was on the same side of the street that I was on and had a big VFW sign hanging under its front window.  I could see warm lights glowing inside and music was drifting through the brick façade and out onto the sidewalk. I stopped in front of the rural Pennsylvania tavern and parked the bike on its kickstand, unhooked my leather bag from the luggage carrier and walked in the front door.

Once inside, there was a bar directly ahead of me with a tall, sandy haired woman serving drinks.  “What can I get you,” she said as I approached the bar, but she couldn’t understand my answer.  My mouth and face were so frozen from the cold and the wind that my speech was slurred, and I’m sure it seemed like I was already drunk when I hadn’t even had a drink.  She asked again, and I was able to get the word ‘coffee’ out so she could understand it. She turned around behind her to where the remnants from what was served earlier that day were still overcooking in the ***. She put the cup in front of me, and I took it with both hands and held it close against my face.

After ten minutes of thawing out I finally took my first swallow.  It  tasted even worse than it looked, but I was glad to get it, and I then asked the bar lady where the restrooms were.  “Down that corridor to the right” she said, and I asked her if she would watch my bag until I got back.  Without saying a word, she just nodded her head. As I got to the end of the corridor, I noticed a big man in a blue coat with epaulets standing outside the men’s room door.  He had a menacing no-nonsense look on his face, and didn’t smile or nod as I walked by.  His large coat was open and as I looked at him again, I saw it – he was wearing a gun.
            
                                   He Was Wearing A Gun

As I went into the men’s room, I noticed it was dark, but there was a lot of noise and commotion coming from the far end.  I looked for the light switch and when I found it, I couldn’t believe what I saw next.  Someone was stuck in the window at the far end of the men’s room, with the lower half of their body sticking out on my side and the upper half dangling outside in the cold and the dark.  It looked like a man from where I stood, and he was making large struggling sounds as he either tried to push his way out or pull his way back in.  I wasn’t sure at this point which way he was trying to go. Something else was also strange, he had something tied or wrapped around the bottom of his legs.

It was at this point that I opened up the men’s room door again and yelled outside for help.  In an instant, the big man with the blue coat and gun ran almost right over me to the window and grabbed the mans two legs, and in one strong movement pulled him back in the window and halfway across the floor.  It was then that I could see that the man’s legs were shackled, and handcuffs were holding his arms tightly together in front of his body.  He had apparently asked to use the facility and then tried to escape once inside and alone.

The large guard said “Jimmy, I warned you about trying something like this.  I have half a mind now to make you hold it all the way back to New Hampshire.” He stood the young man up and went over and closed the window. He locked it with the hasp.  He then let the man use the toilet in the one stall, but stood right there with him until he was done.  By this time I was back inside and finishing my coffee.  The guard came in, seated his prisoner at a table by the wall, and then walked over and sat down next to me at the bar.

“You really saved me a lot of trouble tonight, son” he said, “If he had gotten out that window, I doubt I’d have found him in the dark and the snow.  I’d have been here all night, and that’s ‘if’ I caught him again.  My *** would have been in a sling back at headquarters and I owe you a debt of thanks.”  You don’t owe me anything I said, I was just trying to help, and honestly didn’t know he was a prisoner when I first saw him suspended in the window. “Well just the same, you did me a big favor, and I’d like to try and return it if I could.”

He then asked me if I lived in Berwick, and I told him no, that I was traveling to Boston to see my father in the hospital and had to get off the highway on my motorcycle because of the wreck on Interstate #80.  “You’re on a what,” he asked me!  “A motorcycle” I said again, as his eyes got even wider than the epaulets on his shoulders.  “You’re either crazy or desperate, but I guess it’s none of my business.  How are you planning on getting to Boston tonight in all this snow?”  When I told him I wasn’t sure, he told me to wait at the bar.  He went to the pay phone and made a short phone call and was back in less than three minutes.  The prisoner sat at the table by the wall and just watched.

The large man came back over to the bar and said “my names Bob and I work for the U.S. Marshals Office.  I’m escorting this fugitive back to New Hampshire where he stole a car and was picked up in West Virginia at a large truck stop on Interstate #79.  Something about going to see his father whom he had never met who was dying on some Indian reservation in Oklahoma.  He’d have made it too, except he parked next to an unmarked state trooper who was having coffee, thought he looked suspicious, and then ran his plates.”

“I’m driving that big flatbed truck outside and transporting both him and the car he stole back to New Hampshire for processing and trial.  I’ve got enough room behind the car to put your bike on the trailer too.  If you’d like, I can get you as far as the Mass. Pike, and then you’ll only be about ninety minutes from Boston and should be there for breakfast. If you don’t mind ridin with ‘ole Jimmy’ here, I can get you most of the way to where you’re going. I don’t think you’ll make it all the way on that two-wheeler alone out on that highway tonight.

The Good Lord takes many forms and usually arrives when least expected.  Tonight he looked just like a U.S. Marshal, and he was even helping me push my bike up the ramp and onto the back of his flatbed.  He then even had the right straps to help me winch it down so it wouldn’t move as we then headed North through the blinding snow in the dark.  Bob knew a back way around the accident, and after a short detour on Pa. Routes #11 and #93, we were back on the Interstate and New England bound.

The three of us, Bob, Jimmy and I, spent the first hour of the ride in almost total silence.  Bob needed to stop for gas in Stroudsburg and asked me if I would accompany Jimmy to the men’s room inside.  His hands and feet were still ‘shackled,’ and I can still see the looks on the faces of the restaurant’s patrons as we walked past the register to the rest rooms off to the left.  Jimmy still never spoke a word, and we were back outside in less than five minutes.

Once back in the truck Bob said “Jesus, it’s cold out here tonight. You warm enough kid,” as he directed his comment to Jimmy.  I still had on my heavy leather bomber jacket, but Jimmy was wearing a light ‘Members Only’ cotton jacket that looked like it had seen much better days.  Jimmy didn’t respond.  I said: “Are you warm enough kid,” and Bob nudged Jimmy slightly with his right elbow.  Jimmy looked back at Bob and said, ‘Yeah, I’m fine.”

Then Bob started to speak again.  “You know it’s a **** shame you got yourself into this mess.  In looking at your record, it’s clean, and this is your first offense.  What in God’s name possessed you to steal a car and try to make it all the way to Oklahoma in weather like this?”  Jimmy looked down at the floor for the longest time and then raised his head, looked at me first, and then over at Bob …

“My Mom got a letter last week saying that the man who is supposed to be my father was in the Choctaw Nation Indian Hospital in Talihina Oklahoma.  They also told her that he was dying of lung cancer and they didn’t expect him to last long.  His only wish before he died was to see the son that he abandoned right before he was shipped off to Seoul during the Korean War. I tried to borrow my uncle’s car, but he needed it for work.  We have neighbors down the street who have a car that just sits. They have a trailer in Florida for the winter, and I planned to have it back before anyone missed it.  The problem was that their son came over to check on the place, saw the car was missing, and reported it to the cops. I never meant to keep it, I just wanted to get down and back before anyone noticed.”

“Dumb, Dumb, Dumb, Bob said!  Don’t you know they make buses for that.”  Jimmy says he never thought that far, and given the choice again that’s what he’d do.  Bob took one more long look at Jimmy and just slowly shook his head.  Then he said to both of us, “how old are you boys?”  I said 23, as Jimmy nodded his head acknowledging that he was the same age.  Bob then said, “I got bookends here, both goin in different directions,”

Jimmy then went on to say, “My mom my little sister and I live in a public housing project in Laconia.  I never knew my dad, but my grandma, when she was alive, said that he was a pretty good guy.  My mother would never talk about why he left, and I felt like this was my last chance to not only meet him but to find all that out before he passed.”  I glanced over at Bob and it looked like his eyes were welling up behind the thick glasses he wore.  Jimmy then said: “If I got to rethink this thing, I would have stayed in New Hampshire.  It just ‘seemed’ like the right thing to do at the time.

We rode for the next hour in silence.  Bob already knew my story, and I guess he didn’t think sharing it with Jimmy would make him feel any better.  The story of an upper middle class college kid on the way to see his dad in Boston would probably only serve to make what he was feeling now even worse.  The sign up ahead said ‘Hartford, 23 miles’. Bob said, “Kurt, this is where we drop you off.  If you cut northeast on Rt # 84, it will take you to the Mass.Pike.  From where you pick up the pike, you should then be no more than an hour or so from downtown Boston.

During those last 23 miles Bob spoke to Jimmy again.  I think he wanted me to hear it too. “Jimmy,” Bob said, “I’m gonna try and help you outta this mess.  I believe you’re basically a good kid and deserve a second chance.  Somebody helped me once a long time ago and it made all the difference in my life.”  Bob looked over at me and said. “Kurt, whatta you think?”  I said I agreed, and that I was sure that if given another chance, Jimmy would never do anything like this again.  Jimmy said nothing, as his head was again pointed down toward the floor.

“I’ll testify for you at your hearing,” Bob said, “and although I don’t know who the judge will be, in most cases they listen when a federal marshal speaks up on behalf of the suspect.  It doesn’t happen real often, and that’s why they listen when it does.

    More Than Geographical Borders Had Now Been Crossed,
             Human Borders Were Being Expanded Too!

We arrived in Hartford and Bob pulled the truck over. He slid down the ramp and attached it to the back of the flat wooden bed. Jimmy even tried to help as we backed the Honda down the ramp. They both stood there as I turned the key and the bike fired up on the first try.  Bob then said, “You got enough money to make it the rest of the way, kid,” I said that I did, and as I stuck out my hand to thank him he was already on his way back to the truck with his arm around Jimmy’s shoulder.

The ride up #84 and then #90 East into Boston was cold but at least it was dry.  No snow had made it this far North.  My father’s operation would be successful, and I had been able to spend most of the night before the surgery with him in his hospital room.  He couldn’t believe that I had come so far, and through so much, just to be with him at that time. I told him about meeting Jimmy and Bob, and he said: “Son, that boys gonna do just fine.  Getting caught, and then being transferred by Bob, is the best thing that ever happened to him.”  

“I had something like that happen to me in Nebraska back in 1940, and without help my life may have taken an entirely different turn.  My options were, either go away for awhile, or join the United States Marine Corps — Thank God for the ‘Corps.”  My dad had run away from home during the depression at 13 and was headed down a very uncertain path until given that choice by someone who cared so very long ago.

“It only takes one person to make all the difference,” my dad said, and I’m so happy and grateful that you’re here with me tonight.

As they wheeled my dad into surgery the next morning, I couldn’t help but think about Jimmy, the kid who was my age and never got to see his dad before it was too late.

On that fated night, two young men ‘seemingly’ going in opposite directions had met in the driving snow. One was looking for a father he had only heard about but never knew.  The other trying to get to a father he knew so well and didn’t think he could live without.

          

      Jimmy Was Adopted That Night Through The Purity
                        Of His Misguided Intention …
                       As So Few Times In Life We Are!

I like how you acted like you didnt notice me
What the **** is wrong with you, I got feelings can't you see?!
You make me angry nd you make me sad
Your the worst heartbreak I ever had
Do you know what you do to me? Do you even care?
We used to go everywhere
Ridin in yo whip
The bad ***** in your passangers seat
Your down *** chick
You always used to call me, just to see what I was doin
I miss that ****, so who the ******* screwin?!
Yeah I'm the jealous type, I guess you caught up to that
The way you treat me is so wack!
You said things wouldn't change and that you didn't wanna lose me! Your a ******* liar and emotionally you abused me.
But that's cool, cause I got my superman
He's always been by my side and does the things you can't
And one day I hope you meet him, the man who rocks my world
The guy who fufils all my ****** fantasies that I've had about you that never happend cause of you cause you didn't want them too!
Tired of feeling like a fool
Callin you, no answer
Texting you, a cancer
Hurts my muthafuckin feelings cause you don't care no more
Was once adored, by you
Now someone else wants to
I never should've told you my feelings
I trusted you to let me open up
My heart just won't shut up, it keeps flowing with hurt and pain
You hurt me so bad its a shame
And now I can't stand it when I hear your name

Some clichty folks
don't know the facts,
posin' and preenin'
and puttin' on acts,
stretchin' their backs.

They move into condos
up over the ranks,
pawn their souls
to the local banks.
Buying big cars
they can't afford,
ridin' around town
actin' bored.

If they want to learn how to live life right
they ought to study me on Saturday night.

My job at the plant
ain't the biggest bet,
but I pay my bills
and stay out of debt.
I get my hair done
for my own self's sake,
so I don't have to pick
and I don't have to rake.

Take the church money out
and head cross town
to my friend girl's house
where we plan our round.
We meet our men and go to a joint
where the music is blue
and to the point.

Folks write about me.
They just can't see
how I work all week
at the factory.
Then get spruced up
and laugh and dance
And turn away from worry
with sassy glance.

They accuse me of livin'
from day to day,
but who are they kiddin'?
So are they.

My life ain't heaven
but it sure ain't hell.
I'm not on top
but I call it swell
if I'm able to work
and get paid right
and have the luck to be Black
on a Saturday night.

Everybody knows
Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic
as the Three "R's" you need
Without them
you'll go nowhere
and never will succeed

Writing...that's a W
and Arithmetic an A
so, who ever came up
With "Three "R's"
was having a bad day

Now, go and ask a cowboy
what the three "R's"
are to him
You'll get a different answer
I'll bet you
one to ten

Ropin', Ridin' and Rodeo
The cowboy's three R list
Reading, Writing, Arithmetic
the big three that I missed

But if they do not have the first three
They are not a cowboy
not a chance
they're just another townie
just another fancy pants

So, to be a proper cowboy
there's six "R's"
they must know
the first three
along with
ridin', ropin, and
rodeo

Burnin blunts ash em in my soul
A few blunts in em and im cool

Scrape the resin till im smokin glass
Shut up an pass the ****** grass

Outsider sittin in the back of the class
Dark figure sittin in the back of the mass

I'm Sellin addiction, addicts seek my benediction
Movin the product, the holy ghost sellin salvation
So addictin pullin in the dead with my gravitation
Sell you your addiction for mine that ****** benjamin

Come to me for paradise
Feelin pain here's the ice

All I see is dead presidents
Eyes dead to the residents
Dyin for my decadence

**** a ******* with a needle
To buy a ****** gold fiddle

Jhonny may play his fiddle hot
But for the hotshot his fiddle I got

Ridin in the Mercedes benz
After I move a couple benz

Rottin the whole ****** hood  
Makin my bankroll look good

Jhonny boy givin me all his bread
Then come famine and he feelin dead
Jhonny boy robbin for scraps of bread

Jhonny boys mums bread used to get baked
This boy takin till his whole fam gets raked

Money funneled to me by the addicts
Jhonny is enforcin my pyramid schemes

I'm Sellin addiction, addicts seek my benediction
Movin the product, the holy ghost sellin salvation
So addictin pullin in the dead with my gravitation
Sell you your addiction for mine that ****** benjamin

I'll be drivin around at the seams
Collectin the green for my dreams

A real ****** nightmare on my street
Krueger with your dope sheet
Salesman with the ****** rapsheet

Killin users and abusers while I sleep
Makin a killin in back alleys I creep

Get customers lost in the nightmare
Then sell the lost a rotten cure
Maybe give em a little gear

Maybe im a travel planner
Sellin trips to wherever
Nah im just another killer
Sellin trips to the executioner

When the lord doesn't hear your prayers
To take away the pain I'll bring the wares
A couple pain pills and a few uppers
Just bring me the bills and the paper

I'm Sellin addiction, addicts seek my benediction
Movin the product, the holy ghost sellin salvation
So addictin pullin in the dead with my gravitation
Sell you your addiction for mine that ****** benjamin

Slinging drugs got somethin inside me broke
Cause i'd rather be out killen than be broke
Bring me the bricks and i'll move that coke
To all the froggys in the pond till they croak

All this movin got my numbers inflated
Got my ****** neighborhood inundated
Careful you dont get ****** ventilated

For a quick buck to take to the pusher
Bodies pile around me a deadly peddler
But ive never pulled the trigger
The passive killer, waterwell poisoner

Rad-ee-oh a' rumblin'
Ridin' hard
into & outta all
directions.
I'm being chased
into the
dawn
by piano keys
all sorts.
Crumblin' boogie
all, like, bumbling along
into wee-hour
Morn'.
Three week ol'
garbage
Greetin' daylight
Just
like
me.
But I'm just
24 year old garbage
gripin' white
middle class
YOU know it.
And the
Fridge cries
the whole night LONG.
From
Somewhere else
Minor chords
Ring out from guitar, old-fashioned.
*After this
one
I promise.

Let the beat meditate your noggin' joggin'/
ya memory til ya get Tired never gone Retire/
from this Game like **** **** James/
from Goodtimes i remember the Good Times/
when the world was Alive now everythings Concealed/
reality is nothin' but Joke children gettin' bad Yoke/
from generation to generation gets worse to worse/
weak pulse im seeing visions of the Hearse/
mind gone i need of a Resurrection but my Heat is my Only Protection/
cuz ****** be trippin' sherm dippin' tippin'/
in my Hood swangin' on 4 w/ vogues cool i Suppose?/
but don't know that blow ya Slang hurtin' the Nose/
of victims Cocaina is the Product from the Devil Intellectual levels are Doomed/
dumbin' us down with Indoctrination seems like our Destination is bein' in Incarceration/
but im gone continue to fight with my fullest might-

Endeavor too Clever ridin' through Stormy Weather can't Sever/
me from this **** i Spit/
too too real o so fine Lookin' for a fine Dime i can wife Mine/
but too many Single Mother lookin' too much Off a Brother because of another Brother/
who told them that he loved them just wanted To **** them/
and Impregnate them/
baby girl stuck at Home all Alone/
strugglin' to feed her baby but the Father ain't in the Presence/
so she Becomes hesitant/
sell her *** for Cash cuz Bills bout to take Clash/
hittin' Roof Top i Pause & Stop/
take a Quick Glance/
shakin' my head in Disgrace still wishin' for Amazing grace/
but it's Hard to knock the Grin off a Demons Face/Paper Chase is our Am Ambition/caged animal Subliminal Messages so ya Can't Comprehend/
no Boyz to Men but im steadily In Philly? rollin' a Phillie/
Blunt Hunt ***** pullin' Stunts/with two hands tied behind my Back Hocus Pocus/
Nigguh back to Reality im just Playin' G this is the Philosophy/
of Yosef don't Lose Focus/
pay attention cuz they waitin' for us to Fall & Gall/
and keep us confined in a Circle that me and you Can't See but im goin' to Remain Vigilant ya See...

Barefoot ridin' on my Harley
sounds real cool and it looks gnarly
Doin' wheelies on the way
Lookit me, no hands today

Highway surfin in our truck
You know I don't give a F###
Adrenaline it's in my veins
Let's go out and race the trains

What happened to the little voice
That voice of reason in my head
It shows up some, but now it's dead
That voice of reason in my head
Used to sound just like my mother
Then it sounded like my wife
Now, I rarely hear it speaking
It ain't part of my life
What happened to the little voice
That voice of reason in my head
It shows up some, but now it's dead
That voice of reason in my head


Diving into shallow water
I'm ok, do you think I oughta
Walking out on red hot coals
Tingles some and burns my soles

Drinking what there is before me
I don't care as long as it's free
Party time through out the night
I'll be ok, it's outa sight

What happened to the little voice
That voice of reason in my head
It shows up some, but now it's dead
That voice of reason in my head
Used to sound just like my mother
Then it sounded like my wife
Now, I rarely hear it speaking
It ain't part of my life
What happened to the little voice
That voice of reason in my head
It shows up some, but now it's dead
That voice of reason in my head

One day I will die for sure
Heaven has got that allure
But....I didn't listen to the voice of reason
And I'll end up.....WHERE IT AIN'T FREEZIN'

What happened to the little voice
That voice of reason in my head
It shows up some, but now it's dead
That voice of reason in my head
Used to sound just like my mother
Then it sounded like my wife
Now, I rarely hear it speaking
It ain't part of my life
What happened to the little voice
That voice of reason in my head
It shows up some, but now it's dead
That voice of reason in my head

im with *****
Making millys
acting silly
im playing... our pockets empty and we smoking bleezy
selling acid
minds are gold never plastic
yeah we trappin never nappin
summer 13 *******, thats old news, no clue
nbs and fitted i dont need to boost
plain white t's, no j crew
this me, i never knew, killer kush, ***** im never blue
checkin ******* out, i always disaprove
ridin ***** with our one seaters
pop a heater if ****** being nosy call em peter
5'6 ***** eater wearing beaters never beat her but i beat it, so much head i need a breather
****** is talking puppets watching budget always cautious ***** ****** and they mullets looking stupid
floosy girls loose since theyre dad left theyre missing screws

Well I'm ridin through the crossroads
on a midnight jet black horse,
got my pistol cocked and my sabre sheathed
,but loosely as a matter of course-

In the past I could let my guard down,
but Tonight I must not fail,
I'm like Jonah riding in the belly of the beast
while Ahab takes aim at the whale,
screaming from Hells heart I stab at thee for hate I spit my last breath
but tonight's my night
the coin's just took flight will it be life or endless death?,
I'm a wanted man with a blackened name,
and the hunter's have my scent,
but it's my one true love who I've got to save,
so on her rescue I'm Hellbent.

And the hell in there is not a turn of phrase,
she's in the grip of Satan's kin,
and if silver and steel can't save her soul,
I'll trade my own straight in.
because Sweet Alice always warned me
'bout the company I kept,
but I ignored her wisdom and for my sins,
she was taken while I slept,
by a Hell spawned demon creature
straight from Lucifer's darkest dream,
and her sob of fear is all I could hear,
now I'm haunted by that scream,
and for 11 years I've faced all my fears
on an evil infested trail,
a Witch woman omen caster told me I could save her with the holy grail.

I turn to see the demon following me
thru the gloom and misty hail,
and for the thousandth time I curse my oath to quest for the holy grail,
but Sweet Alice needs me to be strong,
and so I must not fail,
*to face hell's hordes and save her soul I must find the holy grail

Dey can' make me ride no bus.
I'm tellin' you, dey can' make me.

You know, dey all riled up in dere,
since we started walkin' to work.
I's like dey finally startin' to realize what we can do.

I tell you, Yvonna, I walk three mile to work
e'ry day. E'ry day! Can you believe?
I walk all dat way in my heels;
oh, how my feet are blisterin'!

But I don' let 'em know, no, ma'am.
No, ma'am. I jus' smile like I got all deh
love a' Heaven on my side! Can you believe?
Yes, ma'am, I do. I do.

I get home e'ry day now afte' supper
'cause I can' take no bus.
I much rather walk dan sit in deh back, believe me.
But i's so sad, Yvonna, you know?
To see my chirren tryin' so hard tah cook for 'emself.
I feel bad, honestly.

My husban', he workin' so hard,
he almos' die when he come home.

We go to church, Yvonna, e'ry Sundy, you know?
Don't you, girl?

I pray. I pray dat all dem white people
will leave us alone. Alone, I say!
Dey all preachin' 'bout "We Da People"
'n all dat ****, well, I tell you,
we people too!
We may be black but I tell you,
I tell you, Yvonna, we God's people, too.

Yes, ma'am, we are.

Speak up, girl, I can' hear you.

Well, I guess it don't matter.
Ain't like nobody listenin'.

Nobody listenin' to a old, achin' feet *****.
Nobody but you.

Imagine a condition,
labeled a tradition.
Men on a mission,
to slay those who dissin'.

well she could sit around all day
and rot her poetry this way
just put it all rot down and say
"I've done my rotten duty"
done let the cat out of the bag
done with the hairball that old nag
all gutsy green this rotten queen
just rode a rotten beauty.

she'll change the word to what it's not
and that ain't wrong, but it ain't rot
and just like garbage turns to ***  
and get's all down trodden
then long the rod, like rodeo
these words are ridden, time to go
so get the horse and don't be slow
you're right in time with ridin'!

We're ridin' errors then all day
poetic license paves the way
don't know quite where but that's okay,
cause it's our rot to ramble
and what this rutted road has got
is what the dusty novel's not
the long and short of every rot
is pure poetic bramble.

One day my grandma asked me,
Am I happy?
I didn’t quite understand
So I said ‘what happy at home’?
She responded and said
‘No happy with life’?
I stopped to think,
Lied and said ‘yeah’
But deep down inside
I was walking in hell bare.
Gripping on my blunt,
While the loud music blare.
Hell no I’m not happy!,
Hell no I’m not fine!,
Hell no I can’t sit down,
And have a good time.
It’s hard to trust.
Love will get you killed
So watch yourself that’s a must.
Struggling thru my hard times.
Wondering if my mama still love me.
Will God forgive me for all the dirt I did?
All the sins I sinned?
Would he still love a broken heart,
That wont mend?
Breathe smelling like gin.
Heart tighter than skin.
Will he still love me?
I was born innocent and precious,
But now I’m about to cut my verses,
Here’s the message.
I’m reppin’ and spittin’,
Snitches looking and tellin’,
Snakes movin’ in lesson,
But see I don’t know who’s real,
And who’s not.
My life tangled in a knot.
I’m about to put a red laser dot,
Sticking to your forehead like a blot.
Stand still while your ******* head
Get shot.
Gma I want to sleep on a Marriott!
I dreamed of having a chariot.
But now I’m making money out the
Sticky ***.
Gunned down with a 50 shot.
Life coming to you,
Don’t get popped.
Stop pretending to be
Something your not.
Your skin huggin’ your bones.
You out reppin’ and spittin’,
But where’s your home?
Mama I’m sorry for
Causing so much pain.
So much pain became a
Memory lane.
I dream of ridin’ gettin’ high,
In my own private plane,
But it’s a **** shame,
I’ve been set by squares,
And a bunch of lames.
Real ****** lose to win,
But **** ****** lose the game.
I’m looking at the world thru my review,
With low eyes, and blind eyes.
Blind eyes,
Its show time,
Showtime It’s my time.
Cause Gma I’m not happy.
I’m not happy!
I’m not happy!
I want to go to the gun range,
And shoot off the oozi,
**** a ***** in a Jacuzzi,
Sit back and watch him do me.
Then cut his *** off like a butcher.
I’m trying to chase my dreams,
Before they leave.
Lord forgive me for I am guilty of
Greed.
I want to be rich.
I’m tryin’ make it out the
Gutta but life such a *****.
I thought my home girl was down,
But come to find out she was a snitch.
I got better so I won’t leave her in the ditch.
It seems like my life,
Changes a little bit by the day.
Obama trying to take a stand,
And have something to say,
But **** them!
I’m going to do it my way.
There’s kids crying,
And people weeping.
Preachers preaching,
And mama still teaching.
It seems like the devil having
A field day,
But ******* satan,
Yo *** going in the grave.
I got to stand up,
And make it happened.
I’m going to be somebody,
Just save the clapping.
Gma I love you,
And to answer your question-
No I’m not happy.



Marci H.

With her cowpoke
She went riding out with him
One dark and windy day.

The desert had forsaken their love and left their hearts astray.

As sharp as a cactus' spine, her lips did pine for days.

They sat around their victim's pyres tasting burnt bone, curdled blood.

She saw the mess of her cowpoke, blonde and brown beauties layed in the mud.

She asked why must these girls die
If their looks were truly good
He mumbled that his heart had been broken by the stormy flood.

So they swept across Arizona with it's bright windy haze
And withdrew their revolvers with eyes that met in gaze

They downed a couple of beers in the dusky saloon
Until right in front of them was the old rusty moon

Tonight she will riding out in the ****** lands
Where with her man she'll be soaking her rigid hands

In wine that oozes from the corpses in the sands
And in the sheets ridin' she'll take command.

-Lyrix

My Grand Dad was a Cowboy
They called Him Cowboy Bill
But to me He was Grand Dad
A cowboy for real

He lived His life
In a pickup truck
as He'd go from sale to sale
Buy them calves
when they's almost dead
Then He'd raise 'em
back to health

Cause He's a Cowboy for real
Cowboy and He always will
be a Cowboy still
He's a Cowboy
Cowboy for real

Thought a time
He would settle down
with a woman sweet and fair
Wasn't long and He was
on the road
and no one had to tell her

He's a Cowboy for real
He's a Cowboy and
He always will
be a Cowboy still
He's a Cowboy for real

Ridin' in to Abilene
Boots were shined
Hat was steamed
Thought He'd stop in
at the sale awhile
Talk with some
good ole' boy's He knows

Sittin' down and talking stock
Lookin' mainly toward
the bargain lot
Thinkin' maybe
He'd sit a spell
when He smiled
and grabbed His heart

Adios  He thought
and said good-bye
Mounted up
and took His final ride
The Lord He said
Cowboy come on home
The Cowboy He be ridin' on

Cause He's a Cowboy for real
Cowboy and He always will
be a Cowboy still
He's a Cowboy for real
and He always will

-R.

(D)
81

heavy head, ****** and tired sleep echoes through my corridor head. love, a treasure, buried deep within my x-marked chest; i stuck blades of grass in a picture frame, because everything else went away: like the cleaning lady outside my door, vacuum like a pet dog, pawing at carpet, grooming it with its soft, snuffly nose. mess cleaned and she went away. vacuum like a pet dog, hip-hugging, man's best friend.

lines in the bathroom, lines out the back. waiting and shaking with a crazy laugh filled with warmth like a smile radiating from my muscles. powder leaves the plastic surface, like the cleanin lady outside my door, and her sniffling, snuffling vacuum-dog. ****** into a ten dollar bill, with a whimper and a sigh, the pup hops away with its owner, the cleaning lady off to brush along some other fool's corridors.

on the cold steel, the train slows down, a mile out from the station. up hill, down hill, steam choking carriage, searching for thrill in the click clack, crazy rails of a cool powder train. in the bathroom crushing pills to get you up hill, down hill, with a steam choked carriage and that cleaning lady outside my door, she brought that dog, and he was barking real loud, makin' a fool out of me, in the bathroom of that click clack, crazy powder train. hands scritch' scratchin' on the white sheets, until in a moment, it all crumbles to dust, ridin' on the wind's back, leaving like they all do, like the cleaning lady outside my door, and that pet vacuum-dog of hers.

The Camp Cooky’s singin again outa tune,
  about turnin 60 today around noon

"What good is there in it?" I hear him say,
  and it got me to thinkin . . . seein it was his birthday

It seems bein 60’s got two spins to that tale,
  one frittered and wrinkled, the other covered in shale

The one who’s 60 if truth be told,
  is still younger than all those 61—to real old

In the campfire’s crackle of light I can see,
  how everyone younger, is likely dumber than me

So if my hands struggle with the knots and riggin fer sure,
  the knowin and the tellin to those younger’s worth more

Havin outlived many a cow horse, while lovin them all,
  the awnry and skitterish, the short and the tall

The summers ridin drag, and the worst winters mendin fence,
  with a slicker full a holes, and that ol dog with no sense

And while the cuttin and the brandin seems boring to some,
  it’s the importance of their nature and gettin things done

When the hats and the spurs and even the saddles are all gone,
  and the sun sinks over that last mountain, like in Dusty’s ol song

I’ll remember the good times, lettin go of the bad,
  and think back on the pards and the ladies I’ve had

Because just like for Cooky, it happened last year to me,
  and turnin 60 seemed ranker than any bronc could ever be

But like that new Visalia saddle the boss man said was now mine,
  I've found somethin that’s different, somethin gentler and kind

The speed and the strength ain’t been traded for free,
  and somethin woke up that I guess was sleepin in me

And as I yell to the wrangler “Cut me one gentle and nice”
  without loosin too much pride I ask, “Can you help Ol Jim
  cinch his riggin real tight”

Then once more in the dark I ride off in search of the herd,
  singin that one favorite cow song every real hand has heard

And as I inch up on the lead steer whisperin mellow and low,
  “Yippee ki yay, Ol Fella; you ready to go”

For maybe one last time we push North thru the dark,
  the sun still two hours off to the right of our mark

While in the distance a wolf howls, as that lead steer catches my
  eye, and in that instant I know I’m still needed—a long ways
  from g’bye

(Dewey Montana: Circa 1990) Read In Elko Nevada, 1993

**** monkey matchin
No silverbackin plus
Cents crackin
Legin generatin genesin
Kept revelation runnin
War paint tattooin
Dropped nitpickin
Not speaking for all seeing
I's
So **** that ind
Short e pro sent
Ridin' those who drivin'
Securin Isisin icinism
Goin' sketch fhiminism
Not scared to fold my poker
Face ain't evin though these
eight *****(is) grabbin
Yea that much baggin
up cruel indifferent
No difference
Just hook line skankin
Splish splashin groupie
Numeration
Won't color gender but hawk skinned race De baitin'
Outlivin' the momentiun
Bendin those poets brigade in
Coded runaway genius claimin sistym
Bro rexin, t burnin'
Cause Im beatin up
Atom baby momma
Metapen sweepin'
Follow him
Or her or them
Just stay the **** away from
Mygenes aint cells splittin eyes crackin'
***** you know you can hear
Me writin'
No x marks the bar outletin
Find another plug
Or source I'm not chargin
Will en riched by those
Germans who made the mistake
Of breedin' while sleepin'
Ima a boss that don't speak
Keep readin'!
This is
Cobbsland. Stop countin
stars shining in daylight poppin
science whorin metaphorin
Alien abductin
Yea, they love them some black
Womins'    shh its a secret          (ethnics ethics)
Gullah grainin
Freed my *** so my mind is
No longer trainin ill rainin'
laggin' no cadillac, no car, in my
dents in my
Accents indentin
I'm not from africa muthaphucka
But i represent
Kin clickin against
Genesin.

guess whos back
with that mack attack
bringing real hip hop back
yea still pushin 808s
in the cadillac
old honeys feelin that
vibe once come across the mic
turn em from being a ****
like mike
got the game on lock
6 rings on my pinky
how did i fall out
when i been at the top
creme of the crop
knockin these fake emcees
out the box
rock chatteroxes
n what not?
i dont beef cuz i dont eat it
but the bullets i let feed it
to ya body mind and soul
as i take control
of the industry
every ol school emcee feelin' me
underground true to the sound
yea i been around get around
like pac pack two twins glocks
black. chrome
quick to put any in a funeral home
ya can find me home alone
writing dope ****
got a mansion of counterfeit
bills is print
call it black mint hell sent
govs got me bent
**** the president
there better off with dead resident
still cant get no love
still rockin fresh red cortez
with the honeycomb jersey
ill leave ya beggin like percy for mercy
naw yall gets none
still reiging as the victorious
still game is wack
still rep  pro black
been here and back
yo i never slacked still




still bump dj *****
still wreckin crews
check the news
aint no clues
still my folks gettin robbed
cant get a decent job
still cops harrasssin us
still blastin at us
cant put no trust
in the system justice failed
the evil still prevails
all the religious folks yell
jesus is back
**** it same ol fairytale
never trusted blonde hair n blue eyes
demons in guise
still im on a sneak
put ya to sleep
as ya roll up **** creek
still sittin back n think
wish i could change the world
to better all the young boys n girls
still  got OGs who rock jheri curls
but dont get it twisted
theyll split ya wig can ya dig it
friends of distinction
yall still in detention
need i mention
still they lynching
got every black n hispanic
on the bench and
twenty five to life
still cant get cut with a knife
america pie been done gone
purchased illegally all wrong
they say im wronghow fool?
when society drools?
off desperation starvation
i bring heat to the whole nation
heated like friction
facts no gotdamn fiction
still cant get no love
still lookin' at those above
me r i p to the real homies
and homettes
still you cant see me as i be
in the front
lawn sippin moet
shakin my head
still american pushin slavery
but they tell me to forget
still...


still i got love for the beats
still hang in the streets
spread luv with my peeps
repeat
weekend bar be que
listen to ******* up blues
how can ya not be confused?
woth music these days
the radio plays
nothing but bull to fool
thea masses
i shatter there hearts like broken glasses
class is
in session learned a lesson
in this game ya gotta make a name
instead most go for the fame
lose there souls in the flame
still i got no shame
to put any on blast
still puttin up our past
still we get harrassed
still ****** saggin they pants showin ***
still cant get a pass
in the politics
everybody ridin satans ****
pregnant n ****
no abortions spiritually gone
with snortin they shortin
ya benefits everyday
still tryna make a way
still ignore what they say
still ill stand by what i say
even if it cost me my life today
still.....