Chewbacca Chief Rocka 
Han Solo fur coats 
God body wisdom windmills 
my odd body churns smoke 
bloodline is Mexican birthed dope 
sun signs burns scope 
hope hangs on by a thin rope 
my skin is cream sin soaked 
cash rules everything around me 
past moves, god forgot about me 
scream loudly as stress overtakes 
struggling to pay rent 
wondering where the day went 
stay bent, no other choices 
to smother out the voices 
once the voice of the voiceless 
bullets cancel out the noises 
drowning out my voice pitch 
of course it’s surviving crash courses 
torches coincide with rhymes like dimes 
keep a box cutter on the center line 
for when I open up minds 
with my Operation Doomsday 
copulation soufflé eases the mood pain 
I wrote this to dead bent 
won’t stop until I get every red cent