…
Took too many waiting for the gravy train now knocking at the door, passed out,
can’t answer, chance passed, now knocking on a coffin top under layers of regret,
young and undone, waging health for that live-fast-die-quick wealth,
not a penny to the name now, wasted cash on sacrificial fame sang in songs
with stitched-lip cadenced praises for the rain man with no prominent reign, man.
..
Satan is a dollar drop away on a stripper’s back,
you know, that’s what I say is a societal trap
preached as empowerment by the powers that be
that got the media as the mouth, young rappers
dancing on the tip of the fork in their tongue
running on last year’s sleep, living their last leg
of a lean dream, easily manipulated by the threat
of wide throats that swallow whole insubordinate
borderline thought provokers opposing the broken
soul fake woke bullshit agenda, leaving nothing
but TV jingle music, and auto-tune wallows of
medically induced comas, and neck-talking
neck tie sex offenders telling you what to do.
.
Conspiring in a five-sided room
with the point facing down,
scale-hearted psychopaths
and their body counts past
the ceiling, sealing deals
with media moguls to make
movies as a mouthpiece
spewing M.I.C. to consume
what we think relates to us,
the market researched trigger
word tapping into intra-mental
memory banks, programming
public acceptance of imperialist
revolution, charging think tanks
down our dendrites so nothing
need not be done when we’re too
drugged or numb to notice violence
wedging its tip like a firearm
nozzle between the eyebrows,
ending a life of worshipping
pornographic mush mouths
lying face down in a vomit pile
behind doors long closed by
the agents who’ve opened them
with big talk looking through
potential, seeing just a vessel
to feed, to purge for propaganda,
to abandon when all innocence
had been vandalized by the guys
seated in the thrones of a pentagram.
That Voodoo 