The Back of a Front

 

I don’t need you, I just can’t put you down. Putcha down down down down putcha down down. Breaking stones and pushing glass. Hunting dones and pins and cash. Rare’s the one who pay’s it back. Kiss the ass to get the cash, then scour the planet for any past, any reason, any chance, prior promised  favors bashed. perceived insults or paydays passed, anything to start the clash. Forsake your friend, don’t split your stash. Real pain is paying up today for dope you did that’s not  in hand. The front is both the front and back. A helping hand which saves your ass. Your gratitude relayed is fact. A moments hope for fellow man, until it’s time to pay ‘em back. The dope is gone and it went fast.   All that’s left is pay it back. A task that’s fraught with hidden traps.  The world conspires against your plans. You  got ripped off   your dope and cash.  You caught a case or bought black glass. Your car broke down, run out of gas. You have some luck, but it’s all bad. Guess three’s a crowd, you, luck, and black. Avoid the calls and let time pass. Eventually the front and facts, fade with time, fade to  black. All junkies know that stacks go fast, not to fronts just to black. The boosters get you bags for black or bags for crack, some ballsy thieves can get you gas. They never seem to boost any cash, but steaks or shoes are yours just ask,