My Glock and my God

its bitter downright rancid

This toxic dough ball

crow and eagle feathers

Their pinions barbs

That scar my  throat

He’s flown south now

Q Anon’s not to be found

The uprising is a party tale

From a bad nights drinking

All this ammo and nowhere

To spend it

He’s the white guy who made 

Eastwood’s Grand Torino

Shot the black kid

On Seven Mile and John R

In an F250 drive by

On a July Friday night

No one cared Detroit

Had 800 murders

They tell me

Heston wasn’t Moses 

Audie Murphy was a psychopath

John Wayne didn’t go to war

Andy and Mickey Rooney 

Weren’t my dad’s friends

That small brown man

Sittin behind a plexiglas wall

At the Seven Eleven

Says I have to wear

A mask and stand 10 feet back

While his son who works three

Jobs takes my nephew’s

Because he went deer hunting

On opening day after

Standing in the Capitol

Rotunda taking a selfie

That landed him in jail 

They want me to pay 

For folks who won’t work

So they can be just like me

My rights are mine and

No one else’s and I’ll die

To protect them

Those high rise folks just

Don’t understand Scott’s

Turf builder and never will

So stay off my street away

From my town and out

Of my state 

My Daddy tol my about

His first kill in the Nam

She was twelve he thinks

First we shot her Cong grandad 

He was stopping us from 

Pourin gas on his rice cache

How’d he know they were

VC... hell..black Panama’s

Sides they all look a like

No poor folks in Northern

Michigan some got more

Than others but we make up

By huntin and fishin on state

Land no welfare here...proud

Of that