Blog Single

Angry at 11:12 P.M. by Tony Styxx

White smoke rolls from ebony chimneys and eyes scroll back like they’re searching for last night’s dreams
Hand to hand for the cream
Yaw mean
Peep the scene
Demons and fiends sip lean to look at the world straight
Heavens gates ding to the sound of another costumer for a bottle of liquid courage
They ride tonight
Chariots of mustangs plow through this concrete Pompeii
And the Romans that reside in side hide like Trojans
They all got protection
They call them rubbers
Cause once they pulled out
Everyone bounces out the spot
Cold hearts make the block hot
One shot rings out
And the echo seems to carry over for miles away
Gabriel sound his horn
And the Horsemen make haste
Death to all who oppose
War on those who don’t bow down
It’s a conquest to make sure your family knows famine
Cannons zoom to get a clean shot of our generation in one picture
The people are clear
But the intentions have filters
White privilege
Or a color hue of ignorance
I’m justifying again
Black on black again
Don’t let me do the entire work officer
Jump on in
Turn a blind eye to the stove on my waste
Write a bullshit report when my sister is raped
Take a few dollars if you find a garden in my backpack
And I’ll make sure these mice stay in the trap
You created
Lines ain’t blurred they don’t exist
Like a dash cam when an unarmed man gets hit
Sentences handed down to seeds too young to understand their roots
Don’t go to men’s warehouse
They don’t carry your suit
Find your closet at the big house
A nicely tailored Armani orange jumper for you
3 squares and a cot for you
No hope for you
It’s a joke to you
Cointelpro and Jim Crow for you
Stand and get knocked down
Sit and get told to get up
It’s not supposed to make sense
Just keep making money and accept your permissions
Run that ball
Or clean the dishes
Total annihilation is the mission
Who said you had to die to stop living
A life without choice is just a wasted existence
We are more than foot stools and gator bait
Bed maids and sex slaves
Field workers and bale totters
Trap rappers and sports posters
Welfare receivers and camera holders
So you played ball with my son
And it makes it ok to shoot him?
You gave ice cream to my daughter
And that excuses your need to see her bleed?
Home of the slave, land of the free
Rape a woman behind a dumpster
Got home in three
Win gold as a man
Be excused as teen
Burn a flag shoot up a church
Your patriotism is never in question when you skin is as blank as your slate is
After decades of marching
They still won’t switch up the cadence
Walk off beat
You’ll be fruit Ville stationed
Concern is now synonymous with complaining
Having money means you have no right to have issues
With the same folk that will blindly enlist you
Ship you off like cargo
Make you fight a war
Against the same people you are fighting for
I can’t breathe means so much more
When you came from hanging from a tree
To choking in front a corner store
2 shots ain’t enough
Give his ass a couple more
Hand on justice when you approach the car door
You white right
What do you need a warrant for?
Just kick in the door
And wave ya 4-4
And make sure mama ain’t breathing no more
Whether it’s a toe tag or a hash tag
Say my name…..

King.