Baking in Hell's Kitchen
The bubbling and crackling
Leads to huge paper stacking
Elixir mixing
Girls on the pole stripping
Ass spanking and tipping
All from product stocking
Leading to cash flipping
Four burner stove
Like a witches coven
Consuming like an oven
Bake me a Pie
Get them high
Hyped like a Russian spy
Burnt soul remnants
Left over as residue
Microwave it like HAARP
Now stuck on it from the start
Brain steamed fried
Now a man apart
Checked out from the shopping cart
The cash is never short
Toasted like a pop tart
The Kitchen is hot and dark
The devil is the product
Heaven is being sold
Hot to the lips,
But cold to the brain
Like Antarctica in Africa
Eyes bleed to the deed
A runaway slave to the need
The homeless must feed
The kitchen is cold
The cops look and scold
But they keep their hands fold
While I work the product into a mold
A dangerous art to be sold
Buying and selling souls
Subliminal mind control
The recipe, never too old
Disclaimer: This Poem is subliminal
More Poems By Rasta1
The Children are Crying Out for Love - Showing Love To Homeless Children
Tomorrow is Promised to No Man - Asking JAH for Mercy
Respect the Poor or ...... - The Importance of Loving The Poor
I Still Have My Ambition - Poem About Not Giving Up
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Copyright © 2012 Rasta1
