Author Information
True That
Alone in this shootin gallery,
what a fancy name,
for a place where us junkies go,
to while away our pain.
And when i came to ,
my feet were dirty ,
I can smell the funk of the house,
Cigarette and crack smoke,
permeate my nose.
There's no hot water, no heat here,
I am really cold.
Pipes are frozen,
dogs are yelpin'
beggin' me for food
I hold the tiniest baby dog,
and whisper empty words.
Alone in this shootin' gallery
where the hell is my coat?
My cellie missin, my cash is gone,
no one answers when I call out.
Hey Staxx and Stemz, Dr. E.,the
administrator of the class,
they,my so called friends,
took everything i had.
And I am shakin'
I am dope sick
n I really need a bump,
but when you broke
and barefoot here,
Nobody's gonna come
I say hey,anyone here?
A clock ticks in reply,
It must run on battery
we cook dope,
by candlelight.
Left alone, they took my shit,
and went to go get high,
I look down I see my kit,
All my cottons.they are dry,
I bang my head against the wall,
I watch the plaster fly.
Where's my shit?
I had it here,right here ,in my purse,
wait oh damn ,they took that too,
can it get any worse?
I pick up all the emps.
there's fifty o' them,
lyin on the rug,
I scarpe em out and pray
it will be enough,
to fill my pin up.
I hear sounds now,
they comin back,
laughin all the while ,
And they see me sittin there,
they givin me dumb ass smiles.
I ask em, hey whatchu do?
And why you rip me off?
They say Oh Brenda,
your'e so crazy,
c'mere we'll get you off,
then they hug me,
they find
my shoes ,my cell,
And they cookin up my dope
while Doc is tyin me off,
And all is well
It's all good here,
In the house ,
the house the devil built.
