So they got in that silver Toyota.
Outside, silver linings and street lights.
Wishing they could go back to their better lives,
Childhood on the porch, crush on the block, going back and forth.
But that Toyota hit a fork in the road,
Didn’t know if they wanted to be eaten like meat loaf,
Po-Po the ones packing real heat though.
Parking lot behind that Portillos,
Only Latinos and some Afro-Americanos.
Trees only grow in the palm of their hands,
Fingers pick and choose the exact strand.
With the bass bumpin, they hearts thumpin,
Knowing damn well they could get punished.
The silver linings blurry, the street lights murky.
Po-Po pull up right next,
And then another one pull up again,
Then 6 more are next.
Lucky our windows was up, away from a smell test.
We still get giddy and a lil fidgety, trees falling into bags.
Almost spilling, the car was filled up with “My bads”.
And we pull up to the intersection,
Where a couple months ago there was BANG-BANGS and car wreckage.
Lights flash in the rear view,
Telling motherfuckers to the hide book bags,
Cuz the Po-Po can’t see you.
Lights flashing, getting closer and closer.
And the car flies past.
Leaving us in the murky light of all the street lamps.