deepundergroundpoetry.com
.:Killadelphia:.
In these grave times this is what we find...MAN-unkind
Conducting killings in 99% of all The Occupied Spaces
And what’s now being conveyed is in reference to these places
The killings of whom we kill because
we don’t care about any traces
Hard life… to Death
All the time is what one faces
Ferocious like Death Squads and their craving just won’t wilt
Kill-Skills begetting thrills wherein alotta blood gets spilt
The absence of guilt while the hammer gets fed
our chilly ability for “Making one dead”
again, MAN
-unkind...tell me, “What can be said?”
It’s not Carpentry? Jesus, naw
More like Infantry
In Killadelphia, that’s the “Death” we see
The blood spilt now sputtering across the floor
From murderers hitting hard, real hard that 2 x 4
Victims crying out, “PLEASE, NO More”
But trust…there’s always a helluva lot more in store
In Killadelphia…Go on, see for yourself
Some out in the open, a few “fly stealth”
Murderers, naw, they ain’t no slouches
Observe the double-deuce as it slips out of pouches
Here we come, watch it son
We’ll be leaping up outta crouches
Almost like Call to Duty when playing it on them couches
Creep then leap; then we rush ‘em real quick
Sucker punched... take they lunch
Another ill deed by The Clique
Yes we’ve gone beyond sticks
Forget about them stones
It’s the “Kill Age” baby…
And that’s exactly how we Rome
Ready to take a life inside another raided home
The Definitive Victim; call it…two shots to the dome
We kill everything allowing each kill to run its course
Killing over & over with alotta Brute Force
For real, it’s unreal but that’s how we feel
Each killer killing with that over-the-top zeal
See some jokers can get killed over a discolored glass of water
Killed by an irate mother or by her too fresh little daughter
By a wayward son whose completely out of order
Yet in each kill-zone there’s a few who may adore ya
Excited by death; promising to never ever bore ya
Because we can kill…with & without a fully loaded Glock
We’ll kill in Killadelphia…and we do it around the clock
Stirring the kill pot and we do that a lot
That Homicide Squad knowing that they ain’t got squat
Leaving ‘em out there blind, questioning, and clueless
Peeps too damn scared to come forth as a witness
Victim’s slumped to their side ‘cause we just that ruthless
Condemning passive folk defining them as useless
What we yield is the ordeal from being compassion-less inside
In Killadelphia…on occasion it’s sometimes televised
Scenes of rabid terrorists caught up in their frenzy
See dawgs around the world they can get…real, real crazy
Watching a Vic’s eyes as they begin to get hazy
Assaulting and or murdering; killing off alotta folk
Worst than The Triple-K, them white sheets still a joke
New Killers wearing the dark hoodie; then head-on out to work
The mission at hand…another off-street murk
This is what we do and it’s all quite true
How killing works for us; just another Code Blue
Killing the souls, the old & the new
Given enough leeway we would probably kill you
We kill ourselves because that’s what we do
Killing is our thing and we try to stay true
So many feel it’s better…to kill than forgive
Some are just killing ‘cause they’re against all that live
Faces of doom adding bodies to the tombs
Zombie-like fiends under “fool-blown” moons
Our Imaginary enemies, they get permanently obscured
Here with each tear nothing at all gets cured
Me & you…we kill then we’ll turn & kill again
This “Killing Thing” is our “Stupid Thing” and an ongoing trend
All the time in double-time, each killer our bosom friend
Perhaps this is where the future; where it all breaks down
Coldblooded killers…having death “all-around”
Published 24th Jan 2012
| Edited 20th Aug 2014
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