“A Throw Back From 2017″
The Real Bonnie and Clyde…
The untold story…
Me and her were two bullets in a chamber of a 9mm. Never jamming the gun. She sat on the bed yelling to the kids running late for school. “Lets make it!”making them move faster before they left out the house.
I was on the floor with my back to the bed right by her feet. Caramel skinned complexion toes I wanted to bite. I sat on the floor counting money and putting it in the laundry basket so I can get ready to leave. She knew I still had beef with the guys up the street. They all knew that this little lady was just as tough and as dangerous as me.
She sat on the bed humming the song she likes. Loading a machine bullet after bullet. Placing each one slowly in the clip with a Newport cigarette at the end of her lips dropping ashes on the tattoo on her hip. Burgundy bandana tied around her head and a burgundy bandana around the back of the barrel next to the trigger.
God! She was as thorough as they came. My true equal finally I’ve met my match. I got up and through my burgundy and black North face jacket on. Before leaving out of the spot she looked at me with her hazel eyes with a sad expression on her face and said. “Daddy be careful out there because you know it’s hot.”
I replied back saying. “Not as hot as you are lamb chop, please make sure you hold down the spot.” she said to me. “Just call me if something goes wrong and I’ll pop up and spray the damn block up.” She would with no conscience to… I said back to her after giving her a kiss on the lips. “Don’t worry about me babe I got this thing on lock”
I was 23 and she was 27 and I kept a burgundy bandana folded up in my back right pocket with her Nick name on it….
There is a very real untold story behind this…..
A long winter wool coat draped down to the flo. Tommy broom sticks concealed within ready to blow. You have made a noise loud enough to make the whole city know. Never step in the way of him in black coat.
Staring at what you left under the rug. Fast cars like stage coaches. Chased while galloping through the hood. A man with absolutely nothing to lose and no cards to fold. Behind the steering wheel of a pitch fork. All bathed in dripping gold.
This is the only man who can turn a bad Avenue or Blvd block into a quiet safe zone. Without swinging nickel plated frustrated enders of life’s splinters. That needs taking out as quick as word of mouth.
Moving around like drug currency from the south to the north. To the north to the south. The bait car moving up from the south to the north and back to the south for more. The man was made of pure organization and trained thought by core.
He is the only man left in the city with pure heart and never bending a knee to any.
He is a hybrid of anarchy with in hybernation that can wake when tried of patience.
He is just a man…
I had to find my feet. Match up with defeat as a youngster. Fight after fight after fight. I was a small child. Losing every fight horribly. No matter how scared, beaten and brused I got right back up and moved on. Later on in life I would find out that I was litterally the golden child of a royal hood family. Everybody knew my family but me.
A strong respect was formed some years ago by my family in the city and prison systems. Earned by paying dues from actions of pure strength, inteligence and power. When I grew to my teenage years I could see the staring of people in the block and Damn near every where I went. I could even here some of there words. I ain’t going to lie. I felt like a young Hollywood star.
Every older person knew me before I even knew myself and what I was capable of. When I had advanced to my late teenage years to my early twenties. Most of my royal family were incarcerated, on the run from authorities, strung out on dope or just plain old vision out of sight. I got older and realized that I wasn’t young no more. I’ve gotten way bigger and way more aggressive and thorough never losing fights anymore. Truthfully no loses taken. No matter what weapons or weak strategies that were used by my foes.
I ran with… Stood up to the worst of the worst till everyone respected my very presents. I felt like the Prince of my kingdom. It was then when I found out who I really was. A warrior!
A true warrior with the bloodline of famous men. Real stand up brick wall sculptures of hood royalty. There statues still remain till this day. No one in the city could ever surpass them no matter how much work they put in…..
I’ve played for the red team since 14. When the cops came for us. They would bring in small tanks and swat teams.
Lined us up on walls like book shelves. Violation of rights when we were kids. Till we became grown males.
Then we wasn’t having that shit!
The lady’s to…
I ain’t going to lie! They were more ruthless than the dudes.
Shooot! There was no win or lose. Structure and obedience was formed strong while we paid dues.
We crowded up the prison systems like the bad aroma of chitlins. Riots from mistreatment. Watching cell blocks burn like it was tradition.
Escalator moving up the ranks quickly. Till I became top dog in the pound. I guess you could call me a blood hound.
Or maybe a pitbull barking loud sounds. Uncontrollable arts and crafts on side walks and stop signs.
Territory marked up by following Sun Tzu’s guide lines. I guided all minds to be true.
Always have your brother or sisters back marching throughthe streets. Malcolm X by any means.
You can agree or disagree. Fine by me…
My soldiers will steady mob till we ever shall fall under siege by anything. You don’t have to like me at all.
The red team will always be ready to play ball.
The mind is not a plate for you to waste or misplace so don’t make no mistakes. Packing vans up when you ride out. Watching out for time out. Windows tinted with a screw driver in the ignition. Their on a mission. I guess you can call them the teachers of order that will be given. Place your bets and see who’s going to turn first. Spinning like a dradle, dradle, dradle…
Nah! They don’t play yo… This ain’t basic tv this is cable. He moved to soon and got a hole in his stomach like a navel. Quick thinking because they don’t retreat. All the options are violent dimming street lights on the beat.
Your spinal cord got ignored by the doctor because you didn’t have any insurance. Paralizing you… sterilizing you… Killing offspring like the summer time blossoming a deadly alliance between two vicious giants.
They had to hide all of there kitchen wear so they wouldn’t get cooked. In the back of the back listening to “Mobb Deeps ain’t know such thing as half way crooks”. Scared to death with bullet proof vests on there chests like a iron shirt. Blocking the speed of sound as the shells hit the ground.
War junkies… They mixed up gun powder and white rubbing it in there gums to live all night to fight for a peaceful cause till unequal walls barricaded the streets blocking off all that is deep and the sounds of boots marching in like troops then a great escape ensues. Over the rivers and through the woods popping out of the sewers with dark hoods. Turning all that bread into baked goods so their family’s wouldn’t be hungry anymore.
Don’t stand to close to me or soon flowers will be handed to you. Your reaction time was slow on the draw, so your thoughts got painted on the wall. A mirror of memories and runing plasma on the coner stores brick wall. Candlelight vigils sprout up like fresh lavender. As people gather around the candles under the street lights to pay their respects. Late night around 2AM you can hear the sounds of high caliber weapons poping like blood vessels. Many trigger fingers giving birth to pregnant handguns. Choas that’s hard to solve like Chinese arithmetic as a mother’s tears drop from the solar system forming constellations on the pavement. So you know retaliation followed like a chain reaction. Ain’t know white flag being waved around hear! In Satan’s basement loading banana clips in to hungry monkeys. A tit for tat playing tag with bullets. Your it!! Never Ending…
I believe I was a Apache in a former life. Sharpening my tomahawk putting on my war paint dipped in the blood from my adversary’s. I was chief running gun Five star bush general. Tough like calcium strong and proud. Giving orders and raising my tribe in pride. Many died on that hill but we still kept them in our prayers as we pushed back our intruders infantry. Mowing down the lives of savage men trying to take our land for their own greedy needs. NO SURRENDER NO RETREAT!
I yelled out in my native language as we did battle and after those long wars our enemy’s were demolished but yet they still respected us for our bravery. A soldier I will always be to the death. I was inherited this war like mentality from my ancestors before me and I still carry the heavy pain of their blood stains as a Apache.