March 17, 2011 | Leave a comment Five guys rollin’ in a motor burn up road like it don’t last. Big bass rockin’ on the radio I hitting the wheel to fake a drum thump. Sunshine burnin’ through the window toppin’ up tans to staccato crunk. We all starin’ at the fender we followin’ lip bit focus from the fella who drives. Davey ‘im a snooze and he sweatin’ up a storm the others shift position like they on hot rocks. Five guys packed in and all packin’, colors on our backs, full-on inked and all that. Five guys settin’ on a mission teach a guy a lesson he’s really gonna get. Five guys flexing up their muscles; tonight: click-click bang-bang respect. So we reach a shady corner and see ‘im slouchin’ like a drunk. Waistbands ripple as we pull our metal out flashes of munitions and pop pop pop; sloucher hits the deck and his baby-momma drops. There’s a screamin’ and a wailing’ as we screech away fast this lesson is a lesson that’s really gonna last. We whoopin’ and a yellin’ coz we done our bit o biznizz, 9 mil teachers smokin’ up the car. We’re slappin’ and fist bumpin’ and biggin’ up ourselves whilst the driver stamps the pedal and he turn his knuckles white. Five guys start the path to penitentiary where the tats are tears in the corners of your eyes but five guys only got one focus coz five guys happy with their retribution night. Share on Facebook