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