deepundergroundpoetry.com
the game
Late night, moving in the shadows, alert for anything, anyone, who doesn't fit, who doesn't feel right. Your gut always knows instinctively, tightening, rolling with overtones of nausea, it's when you fail to interpret the signs, the signals, that's when everything goes to hell in a hurry as your front door is kicked in by tactical swat unit dressed in Kevlar and brandishing assault weapons, voices speaking in unison "everyone on the floor now, move, move" and you're put in cuffs and roughly jerked to your feet, and dragged to the back of a patrol car that they aggressively push you into.
Within 45 minutes some of your friend's have made a deal, testify against you and get off with no charges being filed against themselves.
Everyone I know or have ever known in the game knew they were breaking the law, and that jail or death were the most likely endings to their story.
Nowadays there's so many loud mouth wannabes who don't know shit about the life except for what they've seen in romanticized gangster flicks.
They make more mistakes than money, doing all their product and ending up broke and taking stupid risks to hustle enough money to get another gram or two, of which they sell just enough to almost cover the cost of there bag.
They talk openly about "running shit" and "putting in work" and tell stories, at best gross exaggerations, often nothing but bull shit. Soon people begin repeating the boasts and soon things are so hot you can't make a move without seeing a car that doesn't belong on your block.
You ignore the warnings, and that cold feeling knotted in the pit of your stomach, and next thing you know six months has passed, and your trial starts. Your attorney says that law enforcement has three separate controlled buys on you, and three different CI's, and on top of that there's still the testimony of your so called friends.
The prosecution offers you a deal, set up some other people that they've been watching, people that you already know, whos trust you've already got.
"Fuck you, take me back to my cell" is all that you say.
Within 45 minutes some of your friend's have made a deal, testify against you and get off with no charges being filed against themselves.
Everyone I know or have ever known in the game knew they were breaking the law, and that jail or death were the most likely endings to their story.
Nowadays there's so many loud mouth wannabes who don't know shit about the life except for what they've seen in romanticized gangster flicks.
They make more mistakes than money, doing all their product and ending up broke and taking stupid risks to hustle enough money to get another gram or two, of which they sell just enough to almost cover the cost of there bag.
They talk openly about "running shit" and "putting in work" and tell stories, at best gross exaggerations, often nothing but bull shit. Soon people begin repeating the boasts and soon things are so hot you can't make a move without seeing a car that doesn't belong on your block.
You ignore the warnings, and that cold feeling knotted in the pit of your stomach, and next thing you know six months has passed, and your trial starts. Your attorney says that law enforcement has three separate controlled buys on you, and three different CI's, and on top of that there's still the testimony of your so called friends.
The prosecution offers you a deal, set up some other people that they've been watching, people that you already know, whos trust you've already got.
"Fuck you, take me back to my cell" is all that you say.
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