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written by the fans.

Any poems submitted to this site will become property of Middle Finger Recordz.
By L. Garcia
1999 Property of Middle Finger Recordz

Mom says daddy's "locked up" and he left her alone
To raise us but she doesn't 'cause she's never home.
Kids with new clothes on the first day of school
Laugh and call me "poor", being so cruel.
When I can't get a toy at the store, I don't cry anymore.
I've been there before 'cause we're "too poor".
In the store, I saw a lady with a man who looked like dad.
I think mommy saw too 'cause after, she was mad.
It's sad how life to me is different from other kids.
Why do we pay for what mom and dad did?
But mom tells me "daddy will be back in a year."
While she sells our food stamps to buy one case of beer.
When she drinks enough, we put her to sleep
Without dinner. We're hungry with nothing to eat.
But I know a way to make life better for mother.
"Pack up...It's time to run away, brother."
By L. Garcia
1999 Property of Middle Finger Recordz

You came to me first. Innocent and shy,
But I knew the truth. The eyes never lie.
You cheated on my ass.  It's obvious I knew.
It didn't make a difference 'cause I never cared for you.
Another name on my list. Just then when I was bored.
One of the many fish, left thrown on the shore.
But then when you left me, I admit it hurt a bit.
One minute went and passed and I forgot about it.

Who came back to whom? That's right, you did.
Admitting to me that you acted like a little kid.
I gave a second chance, knowing that it wouldn't last.
We had no future for us, we only had a past.
Now you are far away again and I am moving on
To a person even better so who care's if you are gone?
Thinking I was hurt but really, I could care less.
You weren't the first, the worse, or by far not even best.
Now your just a memory that I really do regret,
But they will come and go so you'll be easy to forget.
These pages will feature the unheard words of the Chicano that were never
spoken but written on paper about the blood, sweat, and tearz spilled in our daily

All poems are Property of Middle Finger Recordz and copyrighted so stop stealing
this shit and pretending you wrote it fuckerz!!!
By L. Garcia
© 2004 Property of Middle Finger Recordz

You go to your desk
and there you see your son,
opening the drawer
that’s hiding your new gun.
It took a second to realize
you forgot to lock it up.
You grab the loaded gun from him
just when he liits it up.
You used to buy him replicas
that shot caps and water.
He hopes that maybe one day
he might have one like his fathers.

Movies that you let him view
are full of trigger happy cops,
robbers, cowboys, violence too
but still you let him watch.
So all that you can do with him
is give his wrist a slap.
It’s not his fault he wants a gun,
not one that just shoots caps.
You glorified the weapon.
He’s too young to understand,
When you said that he can hold one
as soon as he’s a man.
These words were very powerful
and now he’s incomplete.
He wants to be a man like you
so waits until you leave.
And when you walked away that day
there’s something you forgot.
You put the gun back in it’s place
but still forgot to lock.

He shivers with cold chills
as his skin touches steel.
He twirls it on his fingers
like those wild western films.
He’s finally a man like dad.
Dad would be so proud.
But Dad was downstairs unaware
when the shot went off so loud.
The gun slipped from his fingers
like his sons life slipped from his.
He couldn’t even hold his son
With cuffs tight at the wrists.
Now Dad is put away, locked up
like he should’ve had his gun.
Now is Daddy really proud
that he made a man out of his son?
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