The Era That Doesn't Know 

From the land of marks & pimps
shotgun pumps and a sharkish grin
get dumped with a heartless grin
throwing up the five star fin
cousins bent off juice and gin
moving with ruthless sin
po pimp black and gold caddies
stacked up with white walls
always had me dreaming fancy
Mexican blood dancing
with my Southern grand daddy
teachers couldn’t stand me
gladly chilling with B-boys
breaking on the smooth pavement
dusting off my gang colored shoe laces
move with Do Or Die and Twista
like them dudes made it
shaking up my new language
hood famous from K-Town to Austin
bullets in the wind
proceed with caution
Magic had the speakers knockin’
money flow had suburban sponsors
if they scuffed my Jordan six
welcome to the West Side
where we watch you fold on the blitz
after we snatched the gold off your wrist

So Hard 

Came up Independent as fuck
crushed by dumb luck
life’s road bumps
wouldn’t let me hold love
ran with blood lust
punch up numb nuts
bum rush the show off, a slow burn
my soul yearns for a growth spurt
post earth
sex sells, with no shirt
watch the dough surf
drown underneath the dope perch
no search
age is nothing but a number
too old for hot boy summer
go slumber
album drops, sold low numbers
bummer off the quantity over quality
still do it for the love, no animosity
honestly, my bars are for the homies in yard
but why is it all so hard?

Drowning In My Own Skin 

Born three months premature 
Cerebral palsy, no cure, blood impure 
hated mirrors, afraid of my own glare 
owned the fear, because of that 
I walked with a thousand yard stare 
it’s hard to share the pain 
where to place the blame 
of how you get to a place 
where you hate your own face 
mixed race, disavowed sin 
drowning in my brown and white skin 
settled in mundane phases 
escaped through books 
escaped through paintings 
sculpted anguish from broken language 
hope and hatred roped in habits 
that I wasn’t a real Mexican 
because I didn’t speak Spanish 
tell that to cops, tell that to teachers 
tell that to preachers 
who told me I’d be saved 
if I prayed to a white Jesus 
navigated seasons trying to fit in 
the only respite was with my black friends 
my dark skinned father 
was the pinnacle of cynic 
pushing me to date white women 
because he thought they were rich 
and had a clean image 
for years I couldn’t pin it 
constructs tried to make me 
a slave to oppression and the system 
then I found the rhythm 
they said I’d never walk, I did it 
they said I’d be dead by 25 
I’m alive and living 
they said I’d make nothing of rap, I’m spittin’ 
I did it, I’ve done it all 
Ive broken down the walls 
breathe and pause 
once lost in the jaws of hell 
compelled to expel the generational curse 
and prove my own worth

The Numbers Game 

Two alcoholic fathers 
Haven’t spoken to Mom in 5 or 6 years 
should have wrote this off 5 or 6 beers 
the truth is, 
this came after 5 or 6 tears 
rebuilt self 
after struggling with mental health 
finally displayed emotions 
on a level shelf 
selling my mettle for spiritual wealth 
they crucified Jesus 
just so white supremacy 
could wear his skin as pelt 
sin is felt deep within my bones 
trying to hit different astral planes and zone 
so my soul can finally find a home 
with full attention on self reflection 
tried to save a lot women 
but how could I save them 
if I couldn’t save myself? 
in my dreams pacing Orion’s Belt 
let the hollows melt until the pain is felt 
playing the shameless cards I was dealt 

Pain, rage, growth, pain 
Sun after rain, win, lose or draw 
play the numbers game 
play the numbers game

This second verse 
will address the hurt 
and self imposed curse 
placed on my daughter, as your father 
you got my best pieces 
but also my worst demons 
keep breathin’ and play each day 
as new life leases to unlock your secrets 
I’m sorry your transformation 
started in your mother’s imagination 
and my pitiful exaggerations 
our communication became complacent 
your heart became a weight station 
for our mistakes 
that’s the reason it aches 
don’t be afraid to chase happiness 
in the face of depression 
you may never disconnect it 
but never let it 
stop you from breaking tension 
take each lesson as a step 
to your new direction 
remember self reflection 
I’ll always be 
the one you can run to 
no matter what, I will always love you

Hell's Moshpit 

Salute DOOM, hot spoons 
smooth over beef rap 
like yo son, we don’t need that 
arthritis in the knee caps, my speech snaps 
Rudy Ray Moore blaxploitation 
my pen bleeds big boy hatred 
Channel 66, the inspiration 
don’t you dare change it 
my dads drunk, escape the anguish one way 
thank god it’s Kung fu Sunday 
bask in the sun blaze, night fall hits 
out comes the fists and gun play 
bruises on the rib cage 
older me clicks the gauge 
pain was coming of age 
liquored up or sober 
got smacked up for falling over 
my range of motion was viewed as weakness 
trapped in the stillness 
born to a man who didn’t understand illness 
scorned by the bleak shit 
years later, reach for the pill hits 
it still sits deep inside my mind 
violence forever apart of my design 
looking for signs and escape routes 
to kill off the self doubt 
with the words that come from my mouth 

Held hostage in Hell’s mosh pit 
My two fathers 
One didn’t bother 
The other was a monster 
They both lived the same mantra 
To breed hate 
Making sure love was the imposter 

Death proof, soup and chilling 
lord willing, life keeps living, mighty moves 
‘92 Jordan’s had me feeling fire proof 
where I’m from the guns go pop 
in my my later years 
surrounded by Funko pops 
alone with my thoughts 
when the sun glow drops 
swimming in records of legends 
getting lost in within the expressions 
disconnecting from bastard majesty 
escaped the broken role model 
I got from the step father factory 
magically, I paint visions of escapism 
sitting as an inmate in this made prison 
lay with the blade twitching 
listening to father number two 
abuse my mother in the kitchen 
no choice but to stay vivid, my brains livid 
fame kisses my name 
as the pain lane switches 
cashing in drained wishes 
that the pain listens

Love Letters To The Lost 

Once fell in love with someone 
who put junk in their veins 
blood paints art through the jugular pain 
my brain sprung from the childish game 
when our lips once touched 
while she was on that succulent plane 
pumped with lust 
like it’s my time to be saved 
slave to the passion 
primed to be laid, so I cashed in 
from what I thought was true love 
born from chasing the dragon 
there’s no escape an addict won’t stand in 
whispers in the dark, closed caption 
going from taste to taste 
love song to a ghost crashing 
hoping the rush stayed forever lasting 

Pour a drink and raise it up, ghost 
Roll a blunt and blaze it up, ghost 
Love letters to the lost 
can’t make it up 
can’t make it up 
can’t make it up

Writing ghost love letters 
return to sender 
in the death of friendships 
and the art of dead enders 
focused strain through the words 
living, the great pretenders 
surrounded by the stench 
for as long as I can remember 
my lyrics live as my breath of life 
only a few will enter 
for how long? Who’s to say 
not much time or room to stay 
this is for Gajah, shout to Dumile 
living behind the mask 
wondering what DOOM will play 
god soothes the pain 
weed mutes the brain 
while the sun in my heart 
disputes the rain

Comfort Food  

Blood stained clothes of the tragic 
hit the laundry basket 
maneuvered with shooters 
was too scared to get blasted 
so I kept the blunts lit 
with zippos and match sticks 
a rose in concrete, penning classics 
product of my environment 
dodging entitlement, how survival fits 
elders telling me that heaven exists 
but no invite sent, spite death 
alcohol spiked breath 
who knows how many nights 
of insight I got left 
in my room smiting enemies 
from where God rests 
ah yes, the duality of man 
makes me heartless 
friends ducking charges 
no food in my stomach, fuckin’ hardships 
CPD moving targets 
GD’s and Vice Lords spark clips 
meanwhile my arts slick 
realm of a troubled youth 
rocking a bubble goose 
bangin the Wu-Tang W 
trying to feed my soul 
with some comfort food

Comfort food 
Food for the soul 
When your thoughts have no home 
Where do you go 
When the house of god leaves you alone

leaves you alone 
leaves you alone 
leaves you alone

As I cross the 40 threshold 
packing nothing but mental and metal 
turning flesh cold 
rocking fresh gold 
flexin’ pressed jeans and beaters 
pouring out drinks 
for homies in the ether 
3 finger ringers were the best teachers 
down to the pimps and street preachers 
rocking jeri curls and half moon ceaser’s 
class clown was my best feature 
getting noticed by girlies in the bleachers 
cuz my fits got cleaner and neater 
nothing like a fresh pair of sneakers 
dodging coffin feeders 
taking knowledge from leaders 
getting money from tweakers 
cracking parking meters for game 
getting paid was the aim 
winds of change came 
started to bang to maintain 
hold your breath 
hat broke to the left, taunting death 
moved in silence 
while others were talking mess 
feeling pressed 
failing tests, getting pinched 
hearing the county bars clinch

No Home 

Sun colored Jordan’s 
soak in the calamity it’s gorgeous 
ripping wax, pass the torches 
been rhyming since Nas 
snuck an Uzi on the island and Wu Tang 
was signing five percenter science 
formed an alliance with gazelles 
sitting amongst the lions 
darkness sleeps when the sunrises 
God smiles down on the horizon 
even if my demons aren’t silenced 
grew up to escape the murder rate 
this is my Purple Tape 
bought with funds off the service plate 
scratch the serial 
bullets move past your head 
catch the burial live in stereo 
here we go, another walking miracle 
my march is imperial, Darth Vader 
fuck your saviors 
can’t wait to meet my maker 
I’m tired and feeling uninspired 
until it’s time for the last dance in hell’s fire

My thoughts have no home, here we go 
finding my soul, oh no 

My thoughts have no home, here we go 
I’m dying too slow, oh no

Haunted pianos pen vaunted preambles 
shattered dreams left in unseen shadows 
life is prefix for death 
I don’t want to die 
but I can’t wait for my last breath 
disconnect my souls stem 
from the doldrums of every day life 
bleed from the slice of Americana 
dull screams in my head with marijuana 
party with demons insecurities conjured 
insanity slows enough to ponder 
wander the land like a hopeless ronin 
open up my heart to God 
oh god, not God 
me and him are always at odds 
my faith is a ticking time bomb 
my life is a complex sign on 
with plenty of hills to die on 
drowning in a world full of icons 
sign off the scions who fight for 
war, pain, cash, drugs 
last one to die, turn off the light 
and cancel this plight

This Is For My Brother  

Don’t let those demons shame you 
I hope that hope hope can save you 
fuck that god we used to pray to 
he left the world to slay you 
I know the pain it changed you 
It fucking changed me too 
lots of death and anger 
to hastily graze through 
the memories strain it’s pretty painful 
sitting with selfish hatred in plain view 
life expecting you to play through 
estranged moves, life it caged you 
stay tuned, at least the art stayed true 
you changed to a ghost from different angles 
shadows drowning, found in addition 
admission, lonely minutes 
plus wars of attrition 
fighting friction inside the sickness 
I’ve tried to be there from a distance 
returning the support system 
like you did for me when I had the same visions 
the clock is ticking, now you’re playing chicken 
putting out fires in Hell’s Kitchen 
my heart is liquid 
hoping to get a call or message 
so we find the leverage to get reconnected 
I miss your love and friendship 
wishing I could share my successes 
emerging from the trenches 
see you on the next bender 
always remember, no matter what 
I’ll love you forever 

this is for my brother 
walking through the dark days 
this is for my brother 
fighting through the the dark ways 
this is for my brother 
fighting through the hard days 
this is for my brother 
walking through the hard ways 
this is for my brother

Graduation Day 

Once bought a tec with a body on it 
it took a life, I put a profit on it 
soldier of crooks and books 
threw some knowledge on it 
penning street topics 
graduated to drum loops and polyphonics 
pen and pad, watch me molly wop it 
getting high before the Bulls & SuperSonics 
live from game six 
after souls of friends lift to the abyss 
codes of streets switched 
in my world there was no Good Day blimp 
sick of death didn’t want to be next 
smoked out against the headrest 
reflect on the temptress, feeling neglect 
wondering if… 
the seed in her belly is mine or his? 
infatuation came and 
turned my life into graduation day 
looking to get paid 
now my daughter’s walking 
I start stocking my pockets 
with dough and logic from hydroponics 
no more nonsense, you fuck with mine 
you get to kiss the glock tip