Shit Storm Saturday
Seemingly.
Quite possibly.
I am entrenched in a straight up spiritual passion play.
The battle rages.
Wicked Slime Rat Satan just keeps rising up off the canvas deck time after time after time.
One blow after another from the 'Prince Of Peace'.
Wicked Slime Rat just won't stay da fuck down.
For Sure.
Only God Can Judge Me.
From Da Swamp to Da Desert to Da Mountain High Beauty.
Doing time tick to tock.
Chalking up points by the seconds seeming more like light year hours.
Incoming Bombards My Always Forward Progression.
Dayz into Nitez.
Nitez into Dayz.
As clueless today as I was from the time my Momz released me from Her comfortable womb into an Earthly Hell That Continues To Never Make One Bit Of Sense.
Me constantly against the earthly world.
Throwing Flack at me faster than a Belt Fed Automatic Rifle.
A Thousand shall fall at my left side.
Ten Thousand At My Right Hand.
Not a One Shall Come Near Me.
The Spirit of The Prince of Peace engulfs me in a translucent Armour seen only by those who have been touched by HIM.
The rest of those that see are the eyes of the wicked. Their last house on the block should they decide to play.
For me.
This earthly world is as strange as an Owsley Acid Bombardment from hell.
How I got here I will never know.
Forever a Stranger in a Strange Land.
Been Smoked so many times.
Just keep comin back.
So what Ya gonna tell me?
What Ya gonna say?
Me against da world.
Gettin High Watching Time Fly.
My rear view mirror a never ending litter strewn pot holed steamy ass tarmac blowin up one by one behind me.
Oblivious to the wicked and all their toxic polluted stained teeth dripping with saliva drenched in bile, puke and blood.
Continuing on, glancing every now and then in my rear view. No time for apologizes.
Ya should have seen it comin.
Your Hoe drenched hands forever loosing grip on my windpipe and wallet.
Pretty soon.
Presto.
Slammo.
You Gone.
Unable to suck any more blood.
Your Slant Face Hoe Self Bewildered, while at the same time Satan doesn't even hear your bitch ass moan.
Game Point.
My favor.
See Ya Bye.
For sure fuck you and all yourz.
I will survive.
You gonna smoke me.
Like Nike say Bitch.
Just Do It.
I'll just continue to laugh up in your crooked slant face lying grill.
For sure.
You da one identifying with all this.
Guess what Bitch.
You iz da one.
Yeah.
No doubt.
Fuck you.
Wonder how I live with five rounds in me?
Hard to kill a muthufucker on my block.
What Ya All who inhabit this earthly world don't know.
I walk with HIM.
Ya All Can't touch this.
Yeah Player.
I fucked your wife.
I ride a vibe thinner than a strand from a microscopic wire.
The dead's cacophony playin to my inner ear.
Blowin up urethral dust like a Kat 10 out Da Desert.
The World.
Regarding Sgt. Bergdahl.
Lucky you Army Sargent.
Cause for sure you desert your Marine Brothers up in the heat generated by hostile.
No body frettin.
No worries.
No search parties.
You just another causality of not so friendly fire.
Plain Ol Smoke.
Semper Fi.
Bitch.
Regarding 'Prez'.
Sir.
You a Slant Face, Lying, Cocaine Smokin, Commie Criminal stuck like black tar mucus in the rotten commie throat of Bill 'Da Bitch' Ayers.
Yo.
Ayers.
Player.
Me and my 12 Nigga's just fucked your Ugly Hoe Ass Bitch Of A Wife Bernadine and Pimped her Ugly Beast Self on da south side.
Yeah Mr. President.
Fuck You And Your Hoe Ass Bitch Mamma.
Oh.
I can't say that?
It's Bad?
Fuck You To.
Ryan. Out.
