STREET MATH (A short story in three scenes)

Damn, got these twenty eight grams now what to do?
I know homie from down the block with the distribution crew
And they're all low key never on the avenue
Alright bet, that's fourteen to keep in mind, stacking revenue
Time for street math, break down the other half
Fourteen more to go, that's four eights at three point five,
Time to make the call for the next batch to arrive
Show the low level street kids just to survive
Because it's hard work just staying alive
So many angles and so many scams
Smart young hustler gets a quarter and let them go
At fifteen a gram,
Now he's well on his way to being a man
With that profit he reverses the path
Well aware that with flipping they'll feel his wrath
At last, a way out the hood as he should
But is he helping or damaging his own neighborhood?
He pays his own rent so I can't tell him shit
I take his money and give him his own fourteen to flip
Consistent custies is what makes him legit
And when it comes down to it, he doesn't know the identity
Of the connect from who he get
Now I got a bag full of shake with which we'll make
Into some bomb top shelf concentrate
And before I know it a knock on the door
I'll be god damn if it ain’t my connect with 28 more…

“You let the last batch go pretty damn quick
As a reward here's eight O's for you to flip”
He tells me,
"The secret is to make the payment methods strict
And have associates with acquaintances that love busting licks"
But these clients have needs, what’s more they have cash
Last thing they want is to jeopardize their personal stash
(But know that some suckers will snitch in a dash)
Cover your tracks for when you get caught up
Use street rules you were taught when you were brought up
Eight O's to flip is some real serious shit
But not enough for a lawyer should any charges stick
But if this cycle is successful we'll break bread
Move up, get ahead, cop a fat grip
If the lords by our side the mission will be slick
Two O's here, two O's there, four left
This hustle is more honest than home invasions and theft
Now I’m rocking Sperry's, Herschel nap sack and a Michael Kors ticker
Honest pay check is cool but cold hard cash is quicker
And demanding these large payments makes my skin thicker
Thinking back to when big shit to me was pushing a Quarter O
Here I am now pushing this half a P, hustling hard
Fully supported by the streets anonymity
I respect the game and I know my role
Stress eased by imported drink and a fat wax laced bowl
Another knock on the door
I’ll be god damn if it ain't my connect
This time he's bringing me a motherfucking whole

P is for prosperity pride and persistence
Four hundred and fifty five give or take a few grams
For those kinds of numbers I need to have assistance
Sixteen O's in a clear Reynolds turkey oven bag
And in it the beginning of all the dreams we ever had
For this kind of cheddar I’ll go all in,
No sin, all I see are my family’s finances getting better
But I’m smarter than the average, I’m more clever
Been at it too long, for me to get caught up – never,
P is for Prison
Punked and permanently playing the game
Putting in work towards who I want to portray
But P is also for plot line, if the getaway comes clean
Would I lay my life on the line?
I mean, is what occurring here really a crime?
Plenty out there out to get theirs
(Why shouldn't I get mine?) - Fuck it
Break down the bag, scale it make it half
Once poor now the protagonist
Hold two accountable, a quota, clientele
Most importantly never write down the math
And always have a backup plan, launder, live, laugh
If we all keep our mouths closed
No one will know what happens to those O's
Just respect the deadline, have it by tonight
Now the story can end, I can afford to hide,
You see, P is also for plain site

"Sometimes it's like having the whole world on your shoulders..."

Sometimes it's like having the whole world on your shoulders
And before you know it, the world switches from pebbles to boulders
Within the blink of an eye one is caught up in the
Strife that is our daily life,
Wiser isn’t always hand in hand with getting older
The realization that life and my patience are only getting shorter
The world will only get colder
Struggles that reiterate, many servants - few owners
And I must wander through this well-orchestrated
Mundane quandary of an existence, cutting few (if no) corners
Conscious of the eventual consequence that’s coming my way
Should I choose to linger, play my role and stay
Wide awake and coming to my own conclusion as to why
Certain aspects in my mind have me feeling in such disarray
But this is part of my every day ”in” and “around” greater LA living
If not careful it can crush you and leave you disillusioned
The only way out is to find and execute a concrete solution
For this concrete jungle has a way making you feel humbled
Enough to crumble some dead in their tracks of supposed evolution
These tryfling streets offer no comfort no restitution
Only those that strive to stay alive survive
But even still some become casualties and die
And it’s one of those I don’t want to become
A sucker stuck in the slums, a random victim of a red-rum
A beggar living from crumb to crumb
The thought alone leaves me numb
In the larger scale I know my sorrows seem small
And I should probably be thankful I have any at all
Because without that
tomorrows victory wouldn't taste half as sweet
Always on my toes always on my feet
Mustn't forget;
The path I follow has an elite, rhythmic beat