Sweaty palms, the itchy insides of the smoky marsh pits,

discolored cloudy eyes with battered Fort Knox thighs,

and unlocked joints between the shifted boulders that are consider knee caps.

Fading shades of blue, I seem to recall not recognizing you.

Broken doors attached to reinforcement whores,

sleazy non-Nobel prize winners;

you always trying to render my pockets of suspenders.

Years of slander that the despicable me only dear to speak of.

Bodied armed suited flea tied leather trench coated jackets

and molasses colored glasses roped in plastic.

 

 

That's heinous,

the intense amount of frames that it takes to catch your names.

I figured you take from the poor and give to the rich,

but I like to call it the beaten battered trash patio fence leased

with red clayed bricks lined with tar.

With your face against the curve and your hands behind you waist,

the perfect position to be beaten.

See don't think I didn't remember Fruitvale Station,

a unholy transportation of systems;

that knocks you down with battered knees of penetration to the back of your inauguration.

 

 

Don't tell me this is what my government tax dollars are paying for,

unlawful justice held into a raised fist of fury.

You money grabbing cockroaches;

phases yelled in Scarface with blank whistles of

jotted hot dotted tears that his gun smoked with.

Blue collars with black ties and a badge doesn't change you,

its isn't like its Halloween and you can put on a different costume.

You silly loony-teen Coplay characters that can't take orders,

back broken places where you disks are relocated;

with blueprints written on your wrist stated to begin fading.

 

 

Ibuprofen drug smugglers and those cartel drug endorses,

I begin to start my horses;

a Play-Doh house built on Louis Vuitton fortunes.

Shaking down those poppy and mommy stores,

telling them if they don't pay;

then they will come back and break some more.

My voices are like devices magnified by the echoes

of crying shoulder sisters losing their brothers.

Raised high my fist is with comply,

I wave goodbye to no hand fives because you’re not worth my time.

 

 

Last but not least,

are those cigarette burned eyes seeking for

shortcuts to gain money and to rob the blind.

I have no respect for you crooked cops,

no matter what life has condemned you with.

Scared out quitted people with guns hailed high.

Your like unsophisticated conversations or

bad accents that don't know how to pronounce potatoes.

Just face it your obsolete to all your purposes,

serious your like a bad joke that you can't seem to walk away with.

 

 

       Ps. How about those Crooked Feds too,

F - Fake

B - Business

I - Investors