This Land is Yo land

  

straight out of cherokee county, a honky named joad

in a jalopy 64 running on drip gas down the 66

got my handbill got my nine got a wagon full of kin

i can see the promised land in tech9color

or grey black and white footage from the upper balcony

dense with promoter fog and reefer madness

the ax handle goons and strong swan song stutter studs

in a hooverville compton or peach filled swamp 

peer pressure or preening solid rarity  rocks the house in gilded glory

of violent opposition and instigators 

sugar boils the night into what the day's dough fails to feed

the cube rolls hard and snake eyes play a better preacher

opened to being there if goosebumps sag the performance

one can sink lip in solidarity this land is Yolanda

unless the fleece polices the first speech on a trail of tears tour

ill be there i'll be ill the handbill be unfingered 

fill those units quotas but lock felicia out

when the peckerwoods come knocking show'em the glock

mr block get back to the squad and hot rod it home

like a king on bling beating down the riot with words

just words and a strong ma and a death row left behind

full of pie in the sky pool parties while contracts contract smaller

until the pits are armed and the armpits bear cheery stones

taking the easy good fertilizer aid 

pitted bro on bro that's how the bible go, till it is gone

sez the preacher and the slave as one

goad the goed down the road and feeling bad is mighty nice

when lard and flour are the spice of life

your land is occupied Lando CaliRisen and the deathstar

warms up on the pass over punch down into purple drank

bedbugs flip worthless script in the honkytonk lie bank

what can eye get for sixty three cents but a boogie down

seduction for populism or a land free of the brave

the joads in the hood and pistons in the poetry unmoved

steaming open rustbelted hearts where engines once roamed

two movies diverged in a woods so we owned the owl

the hoot the loot and all that can't compute on a camel's eye

threading more my lie pie fulla birds that own the tiered tries

in crust we trust

 in sod we bust  

1666-present