W.A.R. (Wicked Actions of Reality)
• Written by DrokoOno
Early morning sunshine/
standing on the front lines/
dogs sniffing dirt just to check for a land mine/
Land line tied up, phone calls busy/
Couldn't get through to his wife in the city/
Sky lights up but the fire ain't pretty/
Bombs hit twice, soldiers dead: 50/50/
Fourth of July 60 miles from a city/
Forced to survive in the grime and the gritty/
Portion the fight that he's got left in him/
Hands on the gun but his mind's on his children/
Hiding in the rubble, tucked tight to conceal him/
Enemy sights pass over the building/
The sound overhead fades out and it wills him/
"Keep on going, get back to the camp, Jim."/
He tried to stand up but his right leg failed him/
He looked straight down, shrapnel had impaled him/
Blood on the ground, as his sharp knife helped him/
He carved out the metal and stitched it up/
Jim was feeling pumped as he lifted up/
Like he could go toe-to-toe in a fisticuffs/
Adrenaline rush helped heal the cut/
Dulled it out as he steadied his gun/
Machete-wielding punks tried to sucker punch/
Jumped off a truck and started to lunge/
He picked 'em off and he heard a grunt/
He saw a fellow brother and plucked him up/
Hijacked the truck that was stuck in clutch/
Blood on the seat started pooling up/
The drool turned red from the fool he popped/
Praying for a miracle the oozing stopped/
The soldier on his right had blues to pop/
But the truck jackknifed and threw 'em up/
Hit a land mine right away and blew 'em up/
War is Hell, don't salute the Top/
First sergeant too, you can suck my knob/
You send a bunch of scared kids to do a man's jobs/
Attacking innocents just to prove your gods/
War after war, man it's all the same/
A couple sick, rich pricks who like playing the game/
A couple little nit picks so they bomb a race/
That goes both ways, there's no cure for hate/
I spit propane, I hope you feel my flame/
We need Rogaine for the hairpin trigger finger no names/
Who like sippin liquor and attacking old ladies/
War is hitting public streets quicker day-to-day/
Militarized police riding round in tanks/
Toting AK's like a war zone/
When will the world quit singing this poor song/
Waiting for the day we can forge bonds/
Every mind clear, every core strong/
And we won't need law, so the court's gone/
But the balls in the law's court so of course we can't/
And that's how it is, so scorch your plans/
You do what they say or your forced away/
I just want a say before I'm old and gray/
I just want a plaque so I can forge my name/
So history remembers not to do the same/
War is all around us, just pick a place/
I'll give the date that a war occurred/
Guaranteed, promised, you have my word/
Just the message of an old soul that reps the 'Burg/
Respect to the blessed that read this, word/
You'll be getting on Santa's checklist for sure/
Have a blessed day and come back for more! :)
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About the Artist
DrokoOno
Member since January 15 2015