I ain’t no freak.
I’m a sexual intellectual
My Gangsta’s reverential
Can you feel my potential
Do I tickle your spine
I’ll touch your mind
Then make you mine
I have the potential to get inside of your mental
I see your physical
However, what’s your point of view
And what’s your potential
Because I’m digging you
Often it’s times when I feel that my mind is blind. For it wanders off of path.
Reflecting the past and the choices I had and the decisions that I made.
I’m brave, but a coward in a sense. I didn’t use my powers, instead my weakness for this street shit.
I sunk deep in. Me, Slim, Haz, Scrillz and ‘em. Mike and Steph died, but I still sent friend request to ‘em
We were young when we ingested this. Sometimes I feel like I inherited this.
For these eyes deserve to cry, for the things that I witnessed with ‘em
Now I’m wishing on ‘em, like a star up above. I only see the walls up above and to the side.
I’m blind but I can see. It’s so hard to tell. I’m unwell but I lie to myself because I’m good. Just a bit misunderstood.
White boy emerged from the car first. Out of the wreckage, he had the flamethrower in hand. He was spraying fire – setting shit ablaze! He was roasting the pigs, setting them on fire. Pork was cooking. Ribeyes. Piercing loud screams filled the air. White boy couldn’t cook, he was charring shit. Bullets were popping, the pigs were oinking, with napalm he was anointing. Trees were burning. Cars were burning. Bodies were running and burning.
He was using the upside down truck as cover. He threw the bomb. Grenade! Boom! Vietnam, Desert Storm. The war that he knew would come was on. “Fuck the world,” he screamed, spraying fire.
The white bitch materialized from the wreckage with blood in her hair. She touched her head and regarded the blood on her hand. She was injured and woozy.
She recovered with aplomb. She smelled burning flesh and napalm. She grabbed the gun. This wasn’t a part of the play, so she improvised, sending shots with the .40 cal.
Pop, Pop, pop, pop
Pig crept too close, she turned him into toast. She blew out his memory. A hammer from hell—she was raising hell, a wild woman!
She took in the land, checking the layout, her brain was formulating a new plan, an escape route. Since shit went left, every man was for himself. The law had this shit surrounded. There was no way out! Helicopter blades were chopping, guns were popping, the war was here. She could smell hell. The scent was in the air. She threw a grenade.
Boom!
This nigga woke up when he felt the earth shake. Confused and dazed, blood was dripping down his face. Damn. The law was swarming like locust. He shook his head. To get away from this locale, he had to be focused. The crash slung him a distance. He was in the woods watching the action from a distance. He was camouflaged but hurt, hoping that the disguise would work until the war was over.
So many police. This shit was just beginning, it would never be over. The bag was still hoisted over his shoulder. He was wondering, join the war and bust his gun, or pick up and run. The latter was more appealing.
The white boy had a feeling that this was his ending. He was going out resisting, opposing and combating the government. He was killing them hard, they were dying the hard way: death by gunplay! He ran out of fire and threw his last grenade. He started busting the AK! He was flipping the cops. He could feel hell. Fuck the world, was his farewell. A bullet to his neck put him to rest. He was shooting his gun… rebellious to his last breath.
Oh my God! The white bitch just witnessed her husband die. Somehow, she was still alive. Her gun was still popping. The helicopter was still chopping. The grim reaper was floating, and death was approaching. She was ready to remarry the love of her life in the afterlife. Hell or heaven? It didn’t matter.
Pop, pop , click, click! The white bitch emptied the clip. No more firepower. She spread her arms and tilted her head back and prayed to her higher power… The devil. The pigs shot a hundred rounds, they filled her with lead. She didn’t die, she was crucified.
This nigga ain’t see it, but he heard it. He knew that his man and that white bitch were dead. He was speeding through the woods on his feet like a deer. The cops didn’t see him yet, but they were on his rear. He heard the helicopter hovering in the air. It was the trees that had him hid. He was moving effortlessly, as if his feet were not touching the ground. He surveyed the area, nothing but woods. He heard barking, hound dogs chasing him through the woods.
Roof, roof, roof
Wait in the water. He was looking for water, like an old negro spiritual. Oh shit! He peeped a building in his peripheral. He made a beeline, and “Freeze,” the cop screamed.
This nigga bust him! Head shot! He killed another cop in these woods. He wasn’t a killer, he was just misunderstood. Only the Lord would feel him. He ran into the lord’s building.
As understood, they went in blazing, tying shit up, then wetting shit up! They collected the diamonds, some cash, gold bars, and more stuff. They were just stuffing shit in bags.
They blew the spot. Dynamite!
Boom!
They left through the woods. ATVs, sticking to the play. Speeding, wheeling through the trees, the forty was in this nigga’s hand, rifle was over his shoulder. They hadn’t made it yet, but they were getting closer to the crib.
Heart pumping and thumping through this nigga’s chest. Army fatigue bandana wrapping his face. Fatigue pants and hoodie on. He was camouflaged with the woods. Grenades strapped to his waist. Hope was in his heart, hoping he made it back safe. Aware, knowing that danger could be lurking, unseen, blending with the trees.
As planned, they hit the crib, grabbed the goods, the dog and loaded the truck. Then this white bitch blew the house up!
Boom!
She grabbed the wheel of the truck. She was the driver. The responsibility of making it was on her. So, she did the speed limit. She was hoping that the law would not be suspecting a woman.
However, she was a crook. In her mind, she was adding up what they took… millions! They would be set up properly. She was thinking about buying property in Bogota Colombia, or somewhere in the Dominican Republic. Fuck the government, was how she felt. However, if she could make it, she would take her talents somewhere else. Spain or Jamaica.
Rearview…
The cops were coming. Just her luck, the engine started sputtering. Her dreams could be shattered quickly.
“It’s okay, honey, don’t panic.” White boy was the guide. It was his duty to keep everyone alive. He was patient, looking and waiting, hoping that they passed by. He was playing the front of the pickup truck, snorting the coke up, and praying that this bitch didn’t choke up.
“If they pull us over, stick to the play,” said the white boy. The play was: she’d roll the window down, he’d lift the Colt up and blast the cop. He’d then take the badge, and the car would speed off.
The cop was approaching, with the lights on. He was getting closer. White boy was gripping the toast. The efficacy of the coke had his military mind taking over.
Oh Lord please don’t let him pull us over. This nigga prayed to the Lord up above. He knew that if the pigs saw his face, they would shoot him on sight. The cops had his head on the news, he was trending on all of the social sites. They wanted him dead! However, he could not die. His faith was in his gun. His trigger finger hadn’t failed him yet.
Vest on. Teflon. He pumped up his chest. He was ready for whatever including death. Heavy metal in his ear, nicotine in the air.
Ready to ride, this bitch was prepared. The truck, she wanted to gun it, take them on a chase down a dirt road that only she knew, but, the engine was sputtering. She pulled over. Only one pig. She was content with letting her husband kill this local member of the government.
The cop got out of the car, his hand was resting on his weapon. He had a hunch that the occupants of this vehicle were hairy. He called backup. He was hoping that they would be there in a hurry. Big bust!
He had a knack for this cop shit. His gut was telling him that this particular group: a white boy, a white bitch and a nigger was responsible for blowing up that stuff.
He was a racist ass cracka, and this nigga sensed it. He knew it… it was all in the cop’s walk. He was already grabbing his gun like he already suspected them.
The cop approached and the dog started growling. Grr, he hated the law like everyone else in this car. The dog barked. Roof! The pig panicked and shot the dog!
“Fuck!” The white boy yelled. This shit was already going wrong. He heard more sirens. Backup was close to arriving. The cop had the drop, he held the advantage. If the white boy tried to shoot he would get shot. So, he told his bitch to, “Go!”
Plain Jane, turned up the heavy metal death music. She put the pedal to the metal. She gassed it on them! The engine was gunning. It stopped sputtering. She was racing to freedom on a high speed chase, running from a demon.
This bitch was switching lanes back and forth. She was moving the truck down the wooden road like a horse. The cops could never catch her. The pigs were too slow, and they could never muster the courage that the coke gave her. She snorted more coke off of her elbow. She was high. It was going to be a rough ride. She punched it harder, trying to get farther away. Her diamonds would be forever or they were dying today.
Shit got hectic! As understood… Plan B. This nigga was on the truck’s bed, big weapon mounted… .50 caliber. This nigga bust it on some army shit. He was sending mini missiles at the government. The heavy metal that he was listening to had him bugging.
Anarchy.
He was killing the government. He had gold and diamonds, he wanted to wear them. He had a bag of cash, he was thinking about the south of France, or Sicily. Big gun busting.
Doom, Doom, Doom!
The cops would never catch him. “Fuck the world,” He screamed. He was still dumping missiles in the pig’s direction. Death mission!
White boy had the grenade launcher. Fuck it! Over kill because he was an over killer. His man was dumping the .50 cal, and he was launching the grenade. The bombs were blowing chunks out of the asphalt.
The cops were increasing then decreasing. Their vehicles were flipping when their tires hit the holes in the asphalt. He was proud of his man, through practice he got his aim up.
Metal was screeching as squad cars were skidding across the asphalt. This was the white boy’s type of glory: blazing at the authorities trying to get away. He had real blood diamonds that he wanted to display in Africa. Trade them for ivory, then head to China.
“Fuck it,” the white boy grabbed the flamethrower.
The pigs were coming from everywhere!
She smashed it! This white bitch had the wheel. This driver shit … she mastered. A thought too soon. Damn, “a road block,” she whispered. And there was no way around it. So, she turned the wheel quick and drastic! The tires screeched, the truck spun, then flipped. She crashed it!
Tires screeching, rubber burning, two hundred on the dash, fast pace lifestyle.
Formula one.
The engine roared as he fishtailed away from another crime scene. He avoided another white chalk, yellow tape moment. He was cursed. He was tired, but his eyes were on the road. Seat was up, he was hugging the wheel. Rear-viewing it.
Aware.
Headed north on a back road. The dog was his passenger. Grr, he kept growling and shit. Ready to eat, he was hungry.
The dirt road was dark, the moon was the only light found round these parts. He was in the woods. He had to be careful, the white boy probably had this shit booby trapped up. Land mines and things. The crib looked abandoned. It was not, just hidden. Log cabin off-grid.
White boy, baldhead like, but not a Nazi. His arms were wrapped with tribal tats and stuff. Big white boy, big beard. He was wanted, running from the feds. He made the most wanted list: Top one hundred!
The white boy greeted him at the door, rifle in hand, “I saw your face all over the news. I thought you would’ve been here, dude.” He hugged him with a smile.
“I know, it just took a while,” said the nigga.
No chain, he cut the dog loose. The dog would be the first line of defense if something foul came through. A bark or something.
The white boy walked him around a couple acres of land, blowing bud. He gave him the layout and spilled the plan. The white boy introduced this nigga to his bitch. White girl, plain Jane with glasses. Nevertheless, his bitch was a crook.
She pulled out the tactical gear, bombs and flame throwers.
Warfare!
There were all kinds of gorilla tape, zip ties, masks and shit. “My husband spoke highly of you, and if he loves you, I love you.” The White bitch was showing love.
All love was what this nigga needed. He was running one hundred miles per hour from the law, chasing a demon. A dollar. Hot boy, nigga was on fire. If the pigs caught him, they would put his soul on ice.
White boy had a corrupt mentality, anarchy shit, fuck the government! They could not find him. He stayed low and built an arsenal. Now his man was around, and it was time for them to pop up. He had the perfect play… some rich forever shit… diamond bag shit! “We go in shooting… on some murder shit!” said the white boy.
Ha-ha, this nigga laughed. He was automatically a part of the plan. As Long as in the end, money was in his hand. Smoke was in the air, a combination of weed and nicotine. He sat at the decrepit wooden table, camouflage hoodie on, blowing a blunt. He was wondering, how many diamonds?
Plain Janey was sniffing the coke. She was an ex-marine and an expert with the rope. She be tying shit up. “Gag ‘em up so that they won’t scream!” She was a murder fiend and the blow made her mind flip. Her dude was plotting on diamonds! Diamonds were forever, diamonds were a girl’s best friend. This play… count her in. As long as she gets to use the grenade.
The white boy was coked-up, spilling his vision. He told his bitch, “as soon as you tie ‘em up, kill ‘em!” He looked at them both, “we leave no witnesses.” His nose vacuumed the coke up. Navy seal minded, criminally guided, the coke made him wiser.
“Who’s the driver?” asked this nigga.
“No driver needed. We’re moving on ATVs through the woods.” The White boy was hoping that the play was understood. One bad move and it would not end good. “We leave and blow the spot!”
Plain Jane laughed, “and that I got.” She was ready to launch the grenade with the grenade launcher. She wanted to feel the earth shake under her feet. She tooted a little snow, raging her head. Heavy metal was banging in the background. She was sought. She hated the law they wanted her caught. Captured! They wanted to lethal inject her. Therefore, in these woods, she would hold court. What was more loving than going to war with the government?
The play… this nigga loved it. Get the bag of diamonds, then pay his way the underground way out of the country, and live on a beach somewhere comfortable. He watched the white boy and the white bitch sniff the coke. They were snorting their noses away, and he was blowing his lungs away. Chasing the loud with the nicotine, envisioning the things that the white boy explained.
“Rest up, we have a week to prep up”, said the white boy.
Good, this nigga would use the time to get his aim up.
Whew! He just made it out of another sticky one. Now, his nerves were all shaky and shit. Paranoid. Chain smoking his lungs to cancer. Fuck it! Mad bullshit was on his chest. Feculent!
His next move was as opaque as a rock. He was dancing to no beat. Eyes wide open, he couldn’t sleep. This bitch had him in her home, but he could not trust her. Her activity was weird.
Paranormal. She scared him every time she tried to flirt. She gave off that exotic snake feel… snake charmer vibrations! He knew that she would try to snake him for the bag. And when she did, he would murder her, the cat, the dog, and the fish. Since he’d been there in her house, she hadn’t fed the dog, the cat, nor the fish.
This nigga was going to be fish, cat and dog food for that bag with all of those big faces and drugs. Come up! She thought.
Now all she had to do was lure him into her web. Black widow. She played the murder game for that duffle, wondering how she would send him to his ultimate demise. Poison him? Rat poison in his food? However, he would not eat her food nor drink her juice.
This nigga’s weird. Every time she got close, he flinched. She tried to put the pussy on him, she wanted to ride him until he bust, and then slit his throat with the razor that she placed delicately under her tongue.
A fatal attraction!
This nigga wouldn’t even look. He has to be gay. She bust it open for him and everything. Plan B. Get on some crazy bitch shit. Grab the chainsaw, massacre this motherfucker. Blood all over the walls. The dog’ll lick it up.
He did not want to leave, but he could not stay. He could not take the chance of staying. If he stayed, he would slaughter the bitch. He could see it now, bullets all in her face! He didn’t want no more blood on his hands, at least not the blood of another bitch. The play was to take her keys while she was asleep, risk the road, praying that they did not have roadblocks on the road. If he could make it, he had a man a few exits up the road.
He was sunk in the couch, playing the cushions, eyes on the TV, peripheral on this bitch, duffle on his lap, hand on his strap. If she moved the wrong way, he would feed her brains to that nasty ass cat, and, let the dog lick on her face.
She was sucking on a lollipop, titties busting out of her tank top, boy shorts cutting her coochie, all up in her booty. She wanted a nigga to bust her. Nevertheless, he would not touch her. She stared at him with that mouth-watering grin, licking the lollipop as if she was sucking his cock.
She was a one of a kind kind of bitch! Bad bitch! Kill a nigga while he was eating the cat. Knife all in his back type of bitch! She stood up gyrating to her own beat. Fat ass jiggling, titties bouncing. She wanted him. She wanted to feel him all up inside of her before she killed him. She moved her ass in front of his face.
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Temptation! Umm the pussy smelled good. He could not resist a taste. He watched her shimmy out of the tight shorts. She was going to give a nigga the pussy by force. What was a nigga to do? Play with fire. She probably put the poison in her snatch. He was a nigga so this was a chance he was willing to take.
She popped that pussy for a real nigga. He busted her from the back. She tried to get on top, but he told her, “nah, only from the back.” She moaned loud. No faking. Her plan was becoming a cloud, half-hearted mission. Should I abort? Too late.
He jerked. She jumped off his dick, rolled to the side of the couch and grabbed the machete that she hid under his seat. She swung it slashing his cheek. she was wielding the sword naked.
He Just bust. He was shocked- the bitch cut his face. His gun dropped. He stood, pants down, he fell. Oh my God. She lunged with the sword, he blocked it with the bag. She cut it open. The floor was covered with all his drugs, some of his blood, and all of his cash. She swung the knife again, he jumped back, she swung again.
This bitch was crazy! She was handy with the blade, swiping away, on guard and shit, as if she was fencing. She wanted this nigga’s head. She could smell the iron in his blood, it was all in the air. She inhaled and swung harder.
Damn, this bitch was lethal with the sword. Game of Thrones! He had to get away, but this bitch was not having it. She was pivoting and thrusting away, swinging the heavy metal at a nigga.
Dragon glass.
The dog was barking, the cat was meowing, and the fish was flipping. Ha-ha-ha, he laughed. This bitch was wicked. He should not have fucked her. Ha-ha-ha, he laughed again. This time thinking about the proverb: you live by the sword, you die by one. However, he lived by the gun.
He reached for his gun, and she chopped his finger off. Blood gushed out of the spot where his pinkie used to be. His heart raced. This might be his time to give death a taste.
She was a gladiator performing in the arena to the cheers of the cash, the dog, the fish, and the cat. Xena!
Blood leaked from his face and his hand. One more lunge would be a plunge of the sword in his chest.
Oh my God- she fell. The break that a nigga was looking for. The sword hit the floor with a clunk. He would not let her grab it. He snatched it. She screamed, “oh my God! Do not kill me!”
He kicked her in the face, “shut up, bitch!” The anger over took him, he chopped off her head with her sword. All out of hate. Like in the movies, blood squirted from her neck. Damn, he was responsible for another bitch’s death.
He searched her crib up and down and found her little stash of cash. He then stitched up his hand, and the gash on his face. He found the keys to the car and took her wig. She couldn’t use it. He grabbed her noggin and threw it in the tank. Her brains would be food for the piranhas. He left her body with the cat and slid with the dog. He looked at the bloody mess that he caused. He laughed. Ha-ha-ha I’m out!
Somehow, he escaped the rape. The next move was his to make, he thought as he moved cautiously throughout. Damn! He wondered if the police knew his identity and what happened to his man? He saw what happened to that bitch. Damn, she caught a bad break.
He had to move on because the heat was on.
That “hey yo,” that came from the shadows was sweet. She was a real nigga’s hero. She just happened to witness some real shit go down and decided to do some real bitch shit.
On the lamb, desperado– and held up in her spot. She was with the shit. All of that gangsta shit, clandestine shit, hoe shit. Whatever the act, she was the part, as long as she secured the bag. Money made her cum! And of course, guns and gangsta niggas. And this nigga was all in her head with some gangsta shit.
“Yeah, let’s get the bag, baby,” he whispered. She blushed. “Set him up, and I’ma wet him up. He’ll never know it was you, baby.”
Laid low, seat leaned back, hoodie and shades on. Money was all on his mind. He was seeing dollar signs dipped in blood. He had to get it fast.
The bag was on her mind. If she grabbed the bag that was before her, she would be that lit bitch for real.
All up in her side nigga’s crib, sucking on him and fucking on him as if she loved him. Like she didn’t just unlock the front door, so that this nigga could creep up and wet this nigga up like he said. She knew that the bag was here, so she acted the part, and dug her nails into his back and moaned louder.
While he fucked on her, he heard that particular creak in his floor, the one that he would hear as soon as he stepped in the front door. He rolled out of his bed, grabbed the muzzle and the gun, twisted it on and immediately put a bullet in her head. He knew he locked the door when he entered his home.
Now, there she lay in his bed: sexy, naked, and dead. And he ain’t have no plans on dying. So he grabbed the big shit! Automatic pump with extra ammunition. “Huh, who want war?” he screamed, pumping the shotgun.
The plot was foiled. This nigga heard the muffle shot that took the bitch’s life. Now, he wondered if he should creep back out the door. He was ready for whatever, but he came for the bag of money, and he bet that the loot was close. He weighed his options- kill this nigga, find the bag and spin before the cops come.
Doom, Doom!
The shotgun toting nigga’s finger was itchy. He blew the pump twice through the wall. Sheetrock, splinters of wood and dust filled the air. A cloud of peril.
Doom! He blew the pump again. He was screaming, “I’m ready to die,” and “come and get me, nigga!” This is how he was feeling.
If a nigga wanted the bag that he secured, niggas was dying on some gangsta shit! In addition, he was not going to jail. so niggas was definitely dying on some gangsta shit.
While that other nigga was shooting through his own walls, this nigga was rummaging through shit, trying to find the bag full of money. That bitch said it was in this house, right here in this room that he was rummaging through.
“Found it,” he exclaimed. It was right where she said it would be.
Now, that nigga was in there shooting the pump, all reckless and shit, this nigga had to get low. He was not trying to be hit. He heard sirens blaring in the distance, and that nigga was still cussing and shooting but still missing. This nigga slid out the back window and down the fire escape with the duffel bag over his shoulder, hood over his face, hand clutching the gat, thinking if he could just make it to the car without being noticed by the law or shot in his back.
Doom, Doom!
That nigga behind him sent two big shots his way. The slugs missed him, but they bent a stop sign. He sent two more, Doom, Doom! Then another two. Doom, Doom!
Metal was creaking and glass was shattering. He was not letting this nigga get away with his bag. Therefore, he chased him down the street, exchanging gun fire through the middle of traffic. He was converging on this nigga quickly… military tactics, bulletproof vest and draws on.
Pop, pop, pop! This nigga sent.40 cal. Shots!
Doom, Doom! The other nigga sent slugs back.
Along with the gunfire, sirens filled the air. This was the drum roll and the fanfare before the movie began. The drama was on, nigga. Training day– you could hear the sirens, you could smell the gun smoke and you can feel the excitement. Just another gangster movie.
It was all action, baby! He was playing the part of the nigga that was trying to slide away with another nigga’s bag, so that he could hideaway on some forever shit, because he was big wanted. He bust the .40 in threes. Pop, pop, pop! Eyeing his getaway.
Shotgun slugs whizzed by this nigga’s ear, the air reeked with the smell of murder. A slug from the pump missed his head, but blew off the head of a fleeing man. Brains and blood littered the asphalt.
“Do what I say,” he said, as he jacked his way into some unsuspecting woman’s car, “or I’ll litter the seat with your brains and blood.” He forced the .40 caliber into her stomach.
The nigga with the pump was still dumping his joint recklessly, sending shots in the other nigga’s direction. Through the pursuit, he forgot about his rear. A shot to the back of his vest reminded him. He spun around busting the pump. He knocked a pig’s leg off! As soon as the cop hit the ground, the nigga blew his brains out. He kept shooting his shotty, stepping in a circle. It seemed like the whole force had him trapped inside of the circle, and they were hitting him up. He was going out playing the part of the gangster at the end of the movie.
This was the script, so he stuck to it. Real nigga going out like a real nigga! Police busting at him. However, they could not kill a real nigga. “Fuck the police,” he screamed. The glory he could never give to the pigs. He would never allow them to take him alive. He put the pump in his mouth and blew off his own head!
“Damn!” This nigga said, looking through the rearview. He saw that the nigga just blew off his own head, on some murder suicide shit.
Before the cops could spot him, he told the driver, “now, back the fuck out of here, bitch!” He instructed her on how to make a smooth getaway, “slow… anything sudden… and you’re dead!”
“I’ll be your hostage… just don’t shoot,” she said reversing the car just as he said.
Kick her out? kidnap her?, hold her hostage? Were the questions on his mind. What was the play? He hoped that she acted right because he didn’t want to kill her.
Then she said, “if you give me half of what’s in that bag, I’ll take you to where I live.” She pushed the gun away from her stomach.
He looked astonished, “why are you looking like that,” she asked smiling, “nobody’s expecting me to be the one that has you hidden.”
CHAPTER I
Heavy Metal was bending and bricks were crumbling as they came through wrecking shit! They were flying at top speeds down a one-way – going the wrong way! Loud booms, bangs, gunshots, and police sirens filled the air, creating a doomsday-like panic. Pandemonium! People were running and screaming, glasses were shattering and cars were slamming into local establishments as motorists attempted to avoid head-on collisions.
Doom, Doom, Doom! The AK spit hellfire at the police. His finger was locked around the trigger, as he sprayed aimlessly, making a gangsta’s getaway.
Shockingly, there was a beauty behind the wheel. She was calm and cool, wondering how she wound up in such a predicament and most important how would she make it out… alive? In her rearview, there was death, destruction, and the police, and all of it was catching up to them. O Lord, don’t let me die tonight, was her prayer. Her cry was, I’m too pretty for jail. Therefore, she switched the gear and mashed the gas harder. The car accelerated headfirst down a one-way on the highway to hell!
This nigga was in the passenger side with the seat laid-back, mask still covering his face, Newport dangling from his lips, smoke clearing out of his nostrils, each hand held a dirty Harry four-four, two six shooters, twelve shots– not enough to waste one bullet. He needed to use each bullet sparingly, like an expert sharp shooter. He played the cut, watching all the action through his rearview. And, he was listening to his man on the roof of the car yelling, “yeehaw,” and “come and get me, mother fuckers!”
The bitch that was driving was too pretty to be in this shit, but this is what she wanted. He was always a gangsta. She was just beautiful. Now, she was both gangsta and cute. Her beauty was tainted because all gangsters have an ugly side. And, oh my God, he did not want her to die tonight! However, death was lurking and he could not save her from the grim reaper. Bitch– you reap what you sow.
If this was his end, “fuck it,” this is how he always dreamed it to be, going out on some ‘all for the love of the money’ shit, banging out with the Police. He blinked his eyes and sat up. Why was there a car coming at them, at the same speed that they were moving, maybe even faster. The driver in the oncoming vehicle was not letting up. He looked over at this bitch driving, she was not letting up. She had a demon in her eyes… hell rider.
Whoa– this was it! His heart rate sped up once he saw that neither this bitch nor that car coming at them head-on was going to divert their course. He made his move and jumped out of the passenger side of the car that was moving at one hundred miles per hour.
She believed that the driver of the other car would turn. Bad Gamble. When she saw that he was on some Kamikaze stuff and was not going to turn, it was too late for her to turn. Her head hit the seat violently on impact—she jerked forward and her torso crashed into the airbag. The engine of the other car sat in her lap, or where her lap used to be. Now, it was just mush. Her beautiful face was just freckled with shattered glass, and she was just eighteen. She just died on some gangsta shit.
The nigga on the roof busting the AK screaming, “heehaw”, “woo woo” and “mother fuckers”, didn’t see it coming. He had the back occupied, holding it down, keeping these cocksuckers off of his cock. All that he heard was a deafening bang– he was ejected from the sunroof still screaming. His body flew through the air slowly like the matrix, gun, still spitting rounds sporadically. He had an out of body experience. He saw how his death would come. He was painting his end with blood—going out in a blaze of glory. If he was dying, these crackas were coming with him. “Come and get meeee, mother fuckers”, he screamed one last time before his body went through the glass window of a restaurant.
This other nigga did his best effort at a tuck and roll. He hit the ground hard and rolled, crashing into a pole, breaking several ribs. He whimpered as he tried to regain the breath that was knocked out of him. He stood up, only clutching one of the four fours. The other was lost in the tumble.
He coughed and blood spewed from his mouth. He was injured badly, he thought, realizing he couldn’t feel his left arm. Six shots, he said to himself as he stumbled away from the drama.
“Hey you, stop,” a citizen screamed, alerting the police to his smooth getaway. His adrenaline was rushing. He spun around, upping the gun like an old school western duel. He sent one head shot into the head of one copper. Bang! And one shot to the citizen for thinking that she could make a citizen’s arrest. Mind your business, lady, he thought as he watched the life spill from her body.
He turned and limped down a dimly lit alleyway. What was his next play? He needed to make it fast. He reached for his phone, but it was not there. Must have gotten lost in the rumble. The police, he knew, would converge on the area immediately.
Then, “hey yo,” a pretty voice yelled from the shadows. He tensed up.
He was soft on her, he flipped the switch and turned from a gangsta to a gentleman on her.
The look on her. OMG! the look on her.
Sultry and seductive. low key siren, lady heroine type.
Her beauty mesmerized him while her mellifluous voice held him in a trance.
Dolce and Gabana lens’ hid her eyes. Her eyes eyed his watch.
Caltrava by Patek Phillipe. Cute!
No effort was needed for her to slip the thirty thousand off his wrist and slide into oblivion.
That wasn’t her mission…
He entertained her at the bar with Tequila on ice and stimulating conversation while a live band blew a soft note In the background.
Her D&G dress revealed a little cleavage.
What was under the rest??? He wondered.
He told the bartender “another round.”
How many drinks would it take for her to slip the straps off of her shoulders, and let that dress fall to the floor for him???
…He was the mission.
But the Tequila had her soft on him. he was turning from a job to her wanting to feel on him.
The pinstriped suit on him.
DAM!
The way the Tom Ford suit fit on him. Gave off that gangsta and a gentleman vibe. Top hat cocked low covering his brown eyes.
Gully!
She bet he had a gun strapped to his waists, in case the opposition tried to find him.
Wait!!!
She was the opposition, and he was found.
She wasn’t coming guns she was coming with her tongue.
Lorelei.
She would blow a tune into his ear that would lead him to a soft death.
Then she would escape into the night air with the bounty bag, And maybe the watch.
The way that her breath touched his ear sent ultrasonic wave to his heart.
To love or to be loved. For one night only.
Just for the night did he want to look into her eyes with his, and see if they would reveal what her soul hid, while his manhood simultaneously touched her heart.
To be loved or to be thuged?
If he was guessing right, the vibe that she gave off wanted the gentleman in him. She couldn’t handle the thug.
Or maybe he was wrong.
The Patron that he was sipping had him in a different zone. Maybe he was slipping and wasn’t seeing clearly.
Wait!
He wasn’t seeing anything clearly.
the world began to spin with an unusual spin.
He gripped the oak bar for support and watched her stare at him with an unusual grin.
She grabbed his tie and pulled him closer. The fatal dose had been administered. The lethal drug had taken over.
He asked her “Who are you?”
She death kissed him and whispered
“Femme Fatale”
Let’s make love floating on the ocean over coral reefs and pearls
Let’s populate the planet
Let’s rule the world
Can you comprehend my vision
Can you see as far as my eyes can see
Let’s make love atop a mountain
The ultimate summit
You halo my glow and we shine our light over the world
Look into my eyes
Let’s communicate with our souls
Tell me how you feel me
I write the script and you play the role
Let’s make love atween the sun and the moon
Fire and passion
A love everlasting
Let’s burn an imprint of us making love into a pyramid
We’ll be one with the ultimate wonder of the world
We’ll be here forever and ever
Can you comprehend my forever
It’s a journey
Let’s walk it or fly it
Can you see it
Open your eyes and take in the scenery
Your comprehension is exponential to our revolution over the world
Come with me and be my forever girl
