Drug Money / I don't know about these narratives of progress

If one  more score  tells me to   play subtle or  sings what   was it   you said   about luck     into  my cupped      palms  it might get     wrong for a while    like cold stilettos on   a mountain road but couldn’t     find the rest of  the body and the snow leaking limp    blades of ice age was a relief       next likely fix was Huey really smuggling    drugs into east oakland when he was shot was      eldridge really falling off a ladder he’d used to   peep at a naked white woman is addiction the     same as need or more like revenge pulled    the knife from killmonger’s heart then clay’s then ours arson        and charlie’s still crying and snorting his alimony looking  for the punishment he can’t find the strength to inflict on himself as atonement     be subtle tuck hips close your lips tell it all give nothing away        lady my lady my contagious laugh and slaver interior laver, here it means to wash in   French lav (like lava) vay like wavy cosmic wash the labor clean and high say nothing    of the cure for salvation pretend an eighth paced seven days is plenty but your whole place smells   like stale tortilla chips and empty bottles and to get across the room you pretend to be hopping over mister cleaver in    snowfilled stilettos and even then the snowman melts and you slip into the next phase of soul on ice     where he celebrates his crimes and sends for cigarettes and lsd never saying sorry or please never leaving Tangier with         deer and lamb one animal one awful black spell