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
The Chronic (Pain)
Drawn from a broken stencil
my end view is in the rear view
endeared through as a stolen rental
focused mental pushes my physical mettle
dreams of bio mechanical metal
fed through my exoskeleton
tattoos scribed on my skin
to distract from my melanin
pain swings like an anchored pendulum
molecular structures of muscles
hustles down a beaten path
my face hides the pain
underneath an uneven mask
every day my strength is leaving fast
reaching for the flask and pain pills
my souls crushed, the pain kills
my brain aims faith at the strained ills
my body is an anvil
steps are mountains climbing up an anthill
sleep is a scant thrill, crawling to a stand still
my fight against the chronic pain
is done with moxie, every second mocks me
coupled with cerebral palsy
the countdown to death haunts me
moments of relief taunt me
in a hospital bed on the mend, breaths paltry
the sun rises again
feeling saucy after sponge baths
return to the streets ducking gun claps
whatever god owes me, he better run that
in the next life, I want a stunt man
until then, I’m in a psychotic stance
hoping to rebuilt as a bionic man
Soul Circus
Came home with 150 in my pocket
starting over, heartbroken and jobless
fighting depression and logic
surviving in hell’s mosh pit
clean slate locked in, clock tick tockin
pain was coming of age
while my demons played
in the blood of the slain
images of failure burned in my brain
never feeling worthy of praise
freed from my cage
smoke and mirrors
plus liquid courage fueled my rage
burned both sides of the flame
fed game because I was told
the heavens were there to uplift you
not pin you beneath the surface
waiting for the real world
to up the heat on the furnace
couldn’t find service in churches
that shit made me nervous
well wish wishes coming from lurkers
my souls murdered
seconds tick as currency
to pay off the death merchants
stay behind the turret
to avoid the slaughter
failed my label, failed my daughter
smothered by my father and mother
I became a ghost in the shell
in his own personal hell
inhabited by another person
a different version
kissed by bliss and ignorance
while I’m left alone to lift
the generational curses
while I suffer in silence
and pretend everything is perfect
amongst the suckers in the soul circus