deepundergroundpoetry.com
FALLEN PROMISE OF EL' CAPITAN
searched promises, imaginings
gilded lights shine vision
sunny this new landed find
awe scene fresh Córdoba viewed
chased, chaste din alley
El' Capitan hiring guns
this freedom of bullets
final pay of sweat, contracts made
gang of four roll out style
trench coat the ripped jean step
carrying leaflets, ribbons of tape
announcing arrival kings within street
hanging their hats amongst fellow thugs
beatings bleeding clubbing all again
but Bleedings pay well don't they
enough ensuring life another day
eating from the bowls thrown out
free drinks on the house
scrape enough to fix the window
wrapping up with fresh tape
"You boys killed, word on the street"
"proud of the wet works, bloody mess"
"going to pay for tape this day"
"its up to You, keep up promoting"
thin dimes and service in lip
keep the local populace in place
paying with their howls and yells
lining our pockets no, promises in drinks
fetching minuscule cut, more for the boss
in a hail of bullets soldiers gunned down
never enough money to feed the machine
dead, their hands clenched still holding their weapons
gilded lights shine vision
sunny this new landed find
awe scene fresh Córdoba viewed
chased, chaste din alley
El' Capitan hiring guns
this freedom of bullets
final pay of sweat, contracts made
gang of four roll out style
trench coat the ripped jean step
carrying leaflets, ribbons of tape
announcing arrival kings within street
hanging their hats amongst fellow thugs
beatings bleeding clubbing all again
but Bleedings pay well don't they
enough ensuring life another day
eating from the bowls thrown out
free drinks on the house
scrape enough to fix the window
wrapping up with fresh tape
"You boys killed, word on the street"
"proud of the wet works, bloody mess"
"going to pay for tape this day"
"its up to You, keep up promoting"
thin dimes and service in lip
keep the local populace in place
paying with their howls and yells
lining our pockets no, promises in drinks
fetching minuscule cut, more for the boss
in a hail of bullets soldiers gunned down
never enough money to feed the machine
dead, their hands clenched still holding their weapons
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