Kid, the iron hand slaps happy the iron fist of fate.
yup
jits everywhere.
grits everywhere.
sticking to the teeth of every blind barricade
and room filled with sout.
thats... "Sout" not soot. not black, but... white.
can you imagine white cabrini green?
the smell of bruschetta and fava beans burning on the grill?
empty chianti bottles adorning the doorsteps of a million abandoned condos
The smell of white contempo neighborhoods rob you
with your eyes staring up to the daylight
this is mock and roll.
this is new women and children, new woes
Mr Midnight comes.
on the faces of these, too ridiculous to be written.
It's RollsRoyce and selling.
Next, On COPS:
Its programmmed on our eyes.
Big saline baggie titted Buffy,
and J.G. Billington police chases.
Baggies filled with ripped timeshare.
summerhouses in the Comptons
East to West, 90% sold!
debt sold by the ounce.
its coming.
Raw chinos and Golf
Mr Midnight comes.
Crackhouses on the lake
blinged out like the stars twinkling down on the new ghetto.
