Droppin' Phat Tracks Like Bombs

droppin phat tracks like bombs
gramps can still smell nepalm,
and the limbless child smiles
thanking machine-guns for freedom.

Coca-Cola sips life into his veins
in the landless terrain
called viet nam, el salvador and hiroshima.

The b-girl's stance
reminded movie-goers
of gangster romance
as she witnessed just one more drive-by.

The news reported:
gang related,
and the police force smiled
as the west remained faded.

What could have been
what once was
left in ruins,
ruined,
by freeways
atop aztec ruins.

The time has come,
and a thread left undone
as 'll'
and missy
helps quilt the gap
on a cultural trap
keeping you and I
addicted to crap,
and or crack.

Not much need be said,
as we await the ride to
tomorrowland
provided by disneyland
and the coming of jesus
sponsored by pepsi
the choice of a new generation

the homeless man seemed troubled,
warning:
"if this youth is our future
maybe we need a back up plan."

A back up plan
to dropping nepalm,
in glory of our patriotic grandstand

A back up plan,
redefining,
the ex territories
of uncle sam
as we collectively
awaken,
from the scam
of the master plan
in our master's land

yes I can
said the children
of sam

yes I can.

As I ran in to comfort
my son for being
afraid of the darkness

he smiled and replied,
"Daddy, I may be afraid
of the darkness,
but why are you afraid of the
light?"

Written by: Cesar A. Cruz





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