Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually,

hundred years ago we were all playing flutes,
we’re all guilty as charged even without proved,
and then we player ourselves that’s the truth,
because those in control have nothing to prove,

They pull up the trains and tell us to move,
get to your job gotta quote to fill,
these politicking capitalist are making me sick,
and maybe I’m one too and that’s why I feel ill,

but I’m better than that getting better in fact,
and that’s why my cup overrunneth when filled,

to the brim ballin’ all in,
swimming in sin still blessed as Mary The ******,

first programmed device was invented in Baghdad,
but we’re all caught up in this narcissistic sentiments,
we’re in The Greatest Time in Human History,
and all you can think is the narcissistic thought that “I’m sad”,

Yeah we’re all sad,
and that’s our own fault,
got me mad as a cam in Baghdad,
which I guess was the results,
of being over optimistic with bad math,
and being on the war path with a cult,

but what’s they cult called,
does it even have a name,
and how’d it get Kanye,
and what’s it gotta do with J?

Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually…

∆ LaLux ∆

Who cares who shot JFK I wanna know who shot Tupac,
who cares about the CIA's JFK Files release date,
it’s 2017 and I’m on a plane watching All Eyez On Me,
flying westbound outta the Westside of LA,
on All Hallow’s Eve and it’s all feeling kinda spooky,
because I’m on this plane with another Libra The Boy Drake,

and I don’t care who shot JFK,
I want to know who shot Tupac,
met Suge two times and got the feeling he didn’t,
plus when they hit Pac even Suge got two shots,

so who shot Tupac,
as I write with all I’ve got,
in red ink as my red eyes blink,
pen lines looking like blood drops,

all eyes on me,
until my eternal slumber,
but enough about the words,
what about the numbers,

75 million albums sold,
713 songs,
7 films that’s 777,
same as the title of the latest book I put out,

seems Tupac and I,
share a mutual obsession with the #7,
plus his last album Killuminati was subtitled 7 Day Theory,
not to mention the fact that Pac was shot on September 7th,

as I trace the early similarities,
between me and Tupac,
I think back to when I almost signed with Suge,
and I too feel like Tupac,

I too was raised in New York,
I too got put on in LA,
I too almost lost my soul in Vegas,
I too am both profane and a saint,
I too feel confused and conflicted,
I too both sin and pray,
I too write with a sense of urgency,
because I too know tomorrow isn’t promised today,

I too have found my street instincts to be risky,
I too have gotten it on at the Luxor,
I too know there’s a thin line,
between Love & Hate and between Enemies & Lovers,

trapped between over the top celebrities,
and detectives undercover,
and I’ll a pirate sailor sailing high,
but still I have to fight from going over,

oh Lord,
forgive me for I know not what I do,
and maybe the reason I feel guilty,
is because I waste my gifts on **** and *****,

choose,
your own adventure,

lost,
caught up in the trap that’s why they call it a trap,
winnin’ till when that window rolls down and you don’t know,
if it’s gonna be a gun shot or a camera snap,

I know what’s coming even though I don’t know when,

signing my own death certificate,
like Pac signing to Death Row,
see he thought he was just giving Suge his Music,
but really what he was giving him was his soul,

nobody know when they’re gonna go,
we’re at the table at the Last Supper till they pull our card,
which I guess is sickeningly befitting,
considering Tupac was shot in Vegas on Las Vegas Blvd.,

and all that’s left of him,
is this movie that I watch on this plane,
and what’s happened to our music,
lost Tupac and gained Drake,

and that’s not a shot at Drake,
I mean Drake’s cool,
I’m flying with him to Australia,
but Drake doesn’t have Tupac’s soul,

our music has been watered down,
now Hip Hop sounds like Pop Rock,
I mean how can you even compare,
Hotline Bling to Keep Your Head Up,

what the fck,

how’d we go from Black Panther,
to ***** cat,
how’d we go from I Ain’t Mad At Cha,
to Best I Ever Had,

and I’m not even mad,
I mean I respect Drake for sure,
he gets that money and has always been good to me,
but Drake is no Tupac that’s for sure,

but I won’t elaborate further because,
we all know what happens when you ask too many questions,
so I’ll just keep getting my money and writing my books,
& keep going to church without admitting confessions,

and I’m ending,
this poem right here with an RIP,
RIP to Tupac,
Rest In Peace,

another leader slain,
and I’m so caught up I forgot what I was saying,
even forgot where I was,
which is flying westbound on this plane,

writing verses in blood red ink,
feeling like Pac All Eyes on me,
wondering who shot Tupac pen lines like blood drops,
as I write what I think with all that I’ve got in ink,

ink as red as my red eyes that blink,
sending this poem off as a literary Hail Mary,
with California Love even those it’s Me Against the World,
Keep Your Head Up & congratulations Brenda’s Got A Baby,

and I know I’ll likely Live & Die in LA,
so I wonder if there’s a Heaven for a G,
& if there is Dear Mama I’ll meet you at **** Mansion,
& please know I Ain’t Mad At Cha but I’ve gotta go so peace…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

30/10/17

Always there for me in my time of need.
I apologize for wasting your time.
Cuz at your best you are love.
Immature me letting it all go to waste.
Losing something that meant so much to me.
Chance after chance I received, still ****** up in the end.
Always gonna have a piece of my heart.
She still means the world to me.
I **** at love, I think I need a do-over.
She matured faster than me.
She's gonna grow with me eventually.
She, always there for me in my time of need.
The one for me, long gone and not coming back.

Hang on, hold on...
...we get the fiddle out,

Now the old Ban-jo...
here comes it now,
clap tune with us...

America went in the can when Hollywood then brought-in,
The good feelings sneakin' 'round as Old Times never for-got-ten.
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!

Real T.V. got your goat as poli-ticks snake your vote,
I guess that's how, guess what's now, -rock that boat!
LOOK AWAY! LOOK AWAY! T.V. keepin' Dixie!

Take a knee you N-F-L, NBA you go to Hell!
Still not same, as Me 'n Me, with money, life is swell!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!

Demo-cracy was thrown a hand, when Dixieland lost it's stand,
Oh live and die for T.V.

Keep your eyes down now, -boy don't look around...
...Our way, -T.V. -is Dixie!

HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!

Gotten out? The Great Gar-den? Then we shot your Mar-tin.
And ole Jay Z we'll mow him down, every time he hits our town,
oh you'll see, catch a grave, as God T.V. keep y'all a slave!
Not the same, as Me n' Me, in spite of all your New money!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!

HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!