Cocaine Clouds
Helicopter blades for a sweet serenade,
three-story castle made your arm sore when he paid,
had it all made,
never liked his gratification delayed.
Powdered gold he never touched it,
while under his fingers puppets getting busted,
paid in elevation,
the higher they got the deeper his worth went.
Reclined in his French leather,
third child cried said he’d never met her,
legal ventures always getting better.
while his blood empire crumbled,
talking on TV how he feels humbled.
Street crook to an office-seat CEO,
left the neighborhood in tow,
left behind the friends and the blow,
the suit says genius worn by a criminal.
Copyright © Zack Tesla | Year Posted 2011
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