Tag Archives: crime


there’s a motel outside Winslow
that they call the Desert Rose
where I met up with a maid named Cheryl Lynn
we were hell and gone from there
a disturbed and damaged pair
when I realized the trouble I was in

they said she was bipolar
but who am I to judge
I ignored her gold band and her loaded gun
with a gap between her teeth like Anna Paquin
and her hair a pretty bronze
shining bright like copper in the sun

we were taking down a liquor store
outside Tucumcari
when the cops came swarming in without a sound
Cheryl tried to take them
but she never stood a chance
I wish I’d died beside her on that ground

sometimes I swear I almost feel her body next to me
I hear her sweet voice
whisper in my mind
one day I’ll leave this prison cell
to fly free once again
and Cheryl, in that great beyond, I’ll find.


RAP IT TIGHT by Jeffrey Littrell


I never got respect that I didn’t have to earn

I never met a gangsta that I didn’t wanna burn

I always get the money

I never cut no slack

got knuckles in the glove box

and a Glock tucked in the back


down in East Kentucky where the coal mines are

if you’re down to find some trouble, you won’t have to look far

there’s pill mills, meth labs, and trailer park trash

dive bars and storage units full of dirty cash

better take a Ruger and a thirty-ought-six

some dealers are jumpy and full of cute tricks

never go down past the tracks late at night

and never bring a shank to a gunfight


always look at the money at the bottom of the stack

keep it real, do the deal, and never look back

they damn well better fear you or you won’t last long

so keep your swagger up and your hustle strong

bring it, feel it, do it up right

hustle and flow it and rap it tight

VAGABONDS RUNNING by Jeffrey Littrell


I’m driving back through Frankfort

on our East Kentucky run

Luis is on the throwaway

telling Vassar that we’re done


we both are tired of the game

and these Kentucky hills

a life of crime will change a man

moving smoke and meth and pills


at first you’re drawn in by the cash

and the adrenaline rush it brings

it sure as hell beats factory work

it’ll buy you many things


I met Luis six years ago

when he ran with the Latin Kings

we soon were friends, he shared with me

the perks that this life brings


we’re never in one place too long

we cover the mid-west states

in a cherry red Suburban

with stolen Arkansas plates


in southern Indiana

are my family and my friends

but everyday’s a blur

of Flying J’s and Comfort Inns


we’re driving out of Frankfort

very soon we will conspire

to swap out the Suburban

for my trusty old Sunfire


up ahead’s a roadblock

I can see the flashing red

it makes my heart jump in my throat

it fills me with such dread


everyday there is the chance

that this job is my last

I’m always running from the police

and my shameful outlaw past

THE ONE PERCENTER by Jeffrey Littrell

he rides a beast of steel and chrome
the clubhouse is his pleasure-dome
from dive bars, honkytonks, and alleys
to poker runs and political rallies
the patches tell his story well
his reputation is not for sale
you can see by his blue, teardrop tattoo
that avoiding him is best for you
the MC is his blood and life
he deals for them, he wields a knife
he serves it’s every back and call
in fights, he is the last to fall
although the feds may take them down
chapters thrive in other towns
they never run, they do not hide
the one percenter will always ride

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