hillwalker
09-18-2010, 10:48 AM
CHRISTMAS POME
Weirdest ting was, when dat call come thru
sounded just as same as all dose other calls;
same bogus horse-$hit I keep on a-gettin’,
same hip-hop ring-tone buzzin’ in ma ear-piece,
same vibin’ tickle upside ma trouser pocket:
“Hi there, honey-lips. How ya been’ today den?”
Oh, Man, da kinda call I always been a-dreadin’.
Some sweet young sugar kid, voice jus’ like molasses
readin’ out dem words like some two-bit porno actress,
no ree-yul idee-yu what dem words could signify.
Lines dat chilled ma soul, bro’; lines dat chilled ma guts.
“Killa Joe says tell ya dis party’s on 2morrow.
Bring both yo boys along an’ be on yo best behabiour.”
- - - - -
So I starts to make ma moves just like ma a$$ is set on fire.
Ken the Hook is where I left him, right inside da motel lobby
dealin’ ‘phetamines, for Chrissake. “Well where else ‘ma gonna be, man?”
Jimmy Chung is wid his cronies bettin’ dogs inside da back room
‘Golden Lotus’ out on Freemount; scent of m-s-g and stir-fry.
- - - - -
L-A-X, on Christmas Day, da a$$-crack hour of da mornin’,
airless box, wid tinsel ceilings, smell of lemon-crud floor-cleaner,
da kinda stuff mom used to usin'. Fat kids strankin’, havin’ epi's,
dere folks look set to leave ‘em stranded. Some famous d-j wid his groupies.
I spy a coupla’ big-assed mommas, pushin' strollers, drinkin' sodas
like dey’re busy window shoppin’ in an airport four da mornin’;
‘casional white dudes doin' der stuff, mo strut an’ swagger dan ma homies.
Silver Lexus, fancy chauffeur, parked on stand-by in da red zone.
Ken and Jimmy stand dere gawkin’, mouths wide open like two dummies,
starin’ right above da airport while da guy takes up our luggage.
“Howdee, farm boys, whatcha seein’? Ain’t no jumbos in Detroit, den?”
Landin' lights burn thru da smog just like some friggin’ supernova.
Smooth as surf we head for Sunset, not much traffic on da freeway
Candlestick….. but den he signals.
“Cross yo’ legs boys; need to detour.”
Such a smart mouth on dat hombre, like some evil voodoo juju.
We three zombies on da back seat, trigger fingers ‘til he lets on.
“Got ma orders here from K J, don’t turn dere up empty-handed.”
- - - - -
Meathead meets us in da lobby wid a grin like I’m his momma.
“You boys carryin'?” - takes our pieces.
Den he checks what else we brung.
Well I got bling, a bit of gold chain – heard that Killa likes his glitter.
Ken the Hook and Jimmy Chung, dey got no sense when dey together,
spent top dollar - fancy bottles - some designer shower-$hit lotion.
Turns to camera. “10.15 – your boys is here, boss, and dey clean.”
Thick white carpet sucks our shoes like hot tar in da height of summer,
man himself sharin' a sofa, classy broad wid hair extensions,
she got sharp eyes like a cheetah dat I once seen out in Vegas.
Busy buffin' at her claws like some ten-dollar vampire slayer.
Killa Joe climbs from his seat and homes in on us three wise wastrels.
“Boys, boys. It warms ma heart dat you took out da time to visit.”
Crush of fingers, eyeball contact like a shark dat’s scentin' bleeders,
slidin' like a crawlin' cobra, smooth as freshly-shined stiletto
wid a blade that rip yo heart out.
“You boys ever meet Maria?”
Blink of interest, shows a tongue tip, checks her lips for signs of slobber,
know whatta mean. No introductions, no time for dip-lo-ma-tic bull$hit.
Dark sweat patchin’ Jimmy’s armpits, we all waitin' for da punch line.
Da man ain’t talkin’. So we waitin’….. and we waitin’….. and we watch him.
He reach down behind da sofa, straightens up holdin’ a bundle,
somethin’ wrapped inside a blanket like he’s pullin’ out a shooter
from a pile of dirty laundry. Brings it closer, K J smilin’,
til we look and see da kid’s face. Got his mother’s eyes and cheekbones.
“Dis ma kid, boys. Dis Joe junior. Closer, boys, an’ meet’cha new boss.”
H :chillpill:
Weirdest ting was, when dat call come thru
sounded just as same as all dose other calls;
same bogus horse-$hit I keep on a-gettin’,
same hip-hop ring-tone buzzin’ in ma ear-piece,
same vibin’ tickle upside ma trouser pocket:
“Hi there, honey-lips. How ya been’ today den?”
Oh, Man, da kinda call I always been a-dreadin’.
Some sweet young sugar kid, voice jus’ like molasses
readin’ out dem words like some two-bit porno actress,
no ree-yul idee-yu what dem words could signify.
Lines dat chilled ma soul, bro’; lines dat chilled ma guts.
“Killa Joe says tell ya dis party’s on 2morrow.
Bring both yo boys along an’ be on yo best behabiour.”
- - - - -
So I starts to make ma moves just like ma a$$ is set on fire.
Ken the Hook is where I left him, right inside da motel lobby
dealin’ ‘phetamines, for Chrissake. “Well where else ‘ma gonna be, man?”
Jimmy Chung is wid his cronies bettin’ dogs inside da back room
‘Golden Lotus’ out on Freemount; scent of m-s-g and stir-fry.
- - - - -
L-A-X, on Christmas Day, da a$$-crack hour of da mornin’,
airless box, wid tinsel ceilings, smell of lemon-crud floor-cleaner,
da kinda stuff mom used to usin'. Fat kids strankin’, havin’ epi's,
dere folks look set to leave ‘em stranded. Some famous d-j wid his groupies.
I spy a coupla’ big-assed mommas, pushin' strollers, drinkin' sodas
like dey’re busy window shoppin’ in an airport four da mornin’;
‘casional white dudes doin' der stuff, mo strut an’ swagger dan ma homies.
Silver Lexus, fancy chauffeur, parked on stand-by in da red zone.
Ken and Jimmy stand dere gawkin’, mouths wide open like two dummies,
starin’ right above da airport while da guy takes up our luggage.
“Howdee, farm boys, whatcha seein’? Ain’t no jumbos in Detroit, den?”
Landin' lights burn thru da smog just like some friggin’ supernova.
Smooth as surf we head for Sunset, not much traffic on da freeway
Candlestick….. but den he signals.
“Cross yo’ legs boys; need to detour.”
Such a smart mouth on dat hombre, like some evil voodoo juju.
We three zombies on da back seat, trigger fingers ‘til he lets on.
“Got ma orders here from K J, don’t turn dere up empty-handed.”
- - - - -
Meathead meets us in da lobby wid a grin like I’m his momma.
“You boys carryin'?” - takes our pieces.
Den he checks what else we brung.
Well I got bling, a bit of gold chain – heard that Killa likes his glitter.
Ken the Hook and Jimmy Chung, dey got no sense when dey together,
spent top dollar - fancy bottles - some designer shower-$hit lotion.
Turns to camera. “10.15 – your boys is here, boss, and dey clean.”
Thick white carpet sucks our shoes like hot tar in da height of summer,
man himself sharin' a sofa, classy broad wid hair extensions,
she got sharp eyes like a cheetah dat I once seen out in Vegas.
Busy buffin' at her claws like some ten-dollar vampire slayer.
Killa Joe climbs from his seat and homes in on us three wise wastrels.
“Boys, boys. It warms ma heart dat you took out da time to visit.”
Crush of fingers, eyeball contact like a shark dat’s scentin' bleeders,
slidin' like a crawlin' cobra, smooth as freshly-shined stiletto
wid a blade that rip yo heart out.
“You boys ever meet Maria?”
Blink of interest, shows a tongue tip, checks her lips for signs of slobber,
know whatta mean. No introductions, no time for dip-lo-ma-tic bull$hit.
Dark sweat patchin’ Jimmy’s armpits, we all waitin' for da punch line.
Da man ain’t talkin’. So we waitin’….. and we waitin’….. and we watch him.
He reach down behind da sofa, straightens up holdin’ a bundle,
somethin’ wrapped inside a blanket like he’s pullin’ out a shooter
from a pile of dirty laundry. Brings it closer, K J smilin’,
til we look and see da kid’s face. Got his mother’s eyes and cheekbones.
“Dis ma kid, boys. Dis Joe junior. Closer, boys, an’ meet’cha new boss.”
H :chillpill: