Smokey

This is the way it goes

Sometimes you're flush and sometimes you're bust

And when you're up, it's never as good as it seems

And when you're down, you never think you're gonna be up again

But life goes on

Remember that

Smokey got his name from a teacher in grade five

For coming to school with bloodshot, crazed eyes

By year nine blazed with his crew until late night

'Cause home life filled him full of rage like Jay Lyfe

Fighting with his drunken mother

Sharing a room in a flat with his three younger brothers

There was no way Smokey could last another summer

All day racked his brain for scams to discover

'Til it paid off, his uncle grew plants under shade cloth

Within a thought Smokey went lower than Adolf

Next he briefs his crew but doesn't give an address

He doesn't trust a soul, for him it's life or death

And he could really care less about the consequence

Every cent'd be spent on what his uncle injects

And Smokey's done his prep, left nothing to chance

On the night gives plan B's and draws diagrams

He's even stole some of his stepfather's Rohypnol

In case he needs to drug his uncle's pit bull

Mission complete, car boot full of weed

For the first time in months Smokey looks relieved

In a couple weeks he'd have a whole new life

Before he left paid rent and bought his brothers two bikes

In a few nights from moving, business is booming

Smokey's got the natural born hustler's acumen

But now his customers and crew hang at his house

Playing computer games all day, blazed on the couch

No time for self or the peace of mind

He thought he might find with wealth

Smokey's back to square one

Dealing with paranoia beating like a snare drum

Feeling like he's running on an empty spare lung

Sick of traffic hotter than a fireman's red truck

Smokey closes shop and buys a hydro setup

Going for a direct cut, things improve

He's looking staunch, hitting gym and eating good food

He even does a course as a real estate rep

Only to learn work requires a police record check

Oh well, he doesn't sweat on the cards like plays

Soon harvest marks the end of his dispiriting phase

It's been three months, he ain't been seen once

He doesn't want to look at those he loves speaking in tongues

He knows what he wants, but what it takes is secrecy

His mental bandwidth's a solitary frequency

So when it's time to pull crop, no screw-arounds, moves the lot

First day, in multiple pounds

Then heads in town for a cheap four-wheel drive

A new PC and KX-125

He's off to surprise fam with twelve grand in his bum bag

A deposit for a home loan, sure to make his mum glad

Rushing on emotion approaching his old streets

When a block away he's shocked by the sounds of police

Elation turns to panic, realising mistakes

Oh no, fuck no, license or P-plates

Up shit creek, down wind with no sails

Desperately trying to recall a mate's details

If he fails it ain't a white collar crime

Lucky the cop's blind, hands him a hundred dollar fine

Smokey pulls away screaming "Yes!" under his hot breath

Feeling like he's just crossed Times Square as Loch Ness

Home safe, more bounce in his step than Spud Webb

Smokey lived happily ever after, 'nuff said