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mariamariquinha · 2 years ago

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Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Twelve

Summary: Javier thought, brutally honest: the fuck you think you’re kidding?

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: Brief allusion to sex, dead bodies (kinda gore), violence, torture, angst, feeling of inadequacy, people smoking, gun mention and... cop work? 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: In the middle of a lot of shitty things, I was able to finish editing. Am I happy with this? Maybe. I know that at some point I looked at what I was doing and liked it, so I decided to not change my mind because I’m not that reliable these days - when it comes to accept by achievements. There’s a few political comments, mostly my opinion, so beforehand I warn: I hate captalism.

Oh, and that gif was a choice because... Yeah. It’s small, discreet, but that interaction will do some good in the future. Keep that in mind!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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You were a cynic - that was both a curse and a relief. A relief, yes, because with that lifestyle, the best way of going through most of your shit was being resilient, added to a big dose of an anesthetized sense of reality. A curse, yes, because it was like you became a numb thing, acting by intuition even in moments where you should just be more… normal.

It wasn't like you could blame your father, but it sure as hell wasn't something that came from your mother's side. She would definitely have a more genuine and less furtive response to whatever happened inside that office, even if you knew exactly what Carrillo’s words meant.

Because Carrillo used to talk once.

With deliberate honesty.

You wish you could speak to her, rely on her. Suddenly it had been so long since you walked to her house, talked about your day and the plans for the weekend. Suddenly it all felt too much to handle - the violence, the traps, the long nights, the responsibility. In your moments of calm, spaced and almost non-existent, there were figures that hovered in your imagination and that, despite being equally disturbed by what that life had in store, still made you more innocently accommodated.

Running on the beach. Drinking that good coffee from across the street. Repeating the same things to Mrs. Jackson because, again, she thought you were that girl who used to sell her cigarettes during the 40s.

It was as if all the control that kept you from smoking your cigarettes or the patience for your morning jogs had gone down the drain, just because Carrillo assumed a truth that made you as afraid as if Juan Marcos had put that knife in your jugular.

Nobody talked about it. You went back to that room as if nothing had happened, lit a cigarette and went back to your papers; Javier and Steve maintained silence for nearly an entire hour, perhaps deciding whether to keep things as they were or whether to be more combative. Your head went back and forth with the sound of Carrillo's voice saying those things, all mixed up with the jumble of useless information that you had to review because you weren’t fucking paying attention. No one wanted to open up a hornet's nest of problems for an unofficial case in that environment so inhospitable for such indulgences.

You looked up at the sound of a glass being placed on your table - Peña poured three fingers of whiskey and that was as close as the three of you came to a resolution. Silence, then it would be. Temporary consent, in other words.

You couldn't be more grateful for the team you had there.

------------------------

“How are you feeling?”

Murphy was always comfortable being in the background as a listener - he knew himself well, he knew he needed to preserve as much stability as he could for Connie, so he avoided getting mixed up with Javier's shit or your shit, unless it had to do with work. Still, that day, a couple of weeks after that happened, Steve waited for the right moment to make his notes known, before Javi could arrive for work or anyone else entered the office.

At that moment, everything was a complete mess. Things were nothing short of heated with all that hunting for the golden eggs, with a lot of people dying and even more dead ends. Your father took your peace. You readily offered not to attend meetings with Carrillo if you could avoid it, and you even got offensive to Messina in one of her bureaucratic inconveniences.

“Well, if you’re so worried about it, you should ask him. I’m not inside his head.”

And you remembered how Javier and Steve hid the urge to laugh, even though they were equally worried about the consequences of that comment. Fortunately, nothing happened, and afterwards it became a reason for relaxation between you.

Which wasn't the same with Horacio.

He lived up to his word and wouldn't make your presence more than a mere inconvenience to his routine. At cluster meetings, he gave direct comments about the work and it was strange not to have any bickering sessions between you two - even if that didn't lessen the discomfort. Sometimes he would flex his fists when he heard you talk and stand back while watching you show him something on the satellite maps. Javier would look at you from the corner, Steve would watch Carrillo; sometimes they switched.

You didn't think any of that was fair. In the letters, you mentioned this to your mother and she said that it was up to you to make that decision: about how you were going to take it all forward and whether you could keep the man in his own torture. She knew, however, that it was also torture for you. That you missed the nights you spent together, the escapades at work, the way he touched you. It was too soon and too pathetic to mention feelings like 'love' or 'infatuation' or… whatever. You two were too skeptical for that. The company made everything more bearable, just as Javier had the girls and Steve had Connie. You and Carrillo didn't have anyone; or at least you didn’t. Juliana was still there for him. Always have, as it seemed.

Maybe, deep down, that was what bothered you the most - knowing that he had a past connection and that it was easy, in a way, to take the initiative to go for the easier, more comfortable side. You couldn’t provide him that. None of it, to be honest.

“... It happens, right? With the best and the worst of us. In the end, this is all kind of fucked up.”

You knew that in other circumstances (maybe in another life) Steve would be more reticent about this, more traditionalist. He was the type. So you didn't show much more than muttering under your breath and taking another drag on your cigarette as you continued to sit on that cheap leather couch, the morning sun scorching your back a little.

It took you a moment to answer something - when you did, you saw that he looked uneasy, as if he wanted to say something else.

“I’m fine.”

“You just make it sound like it's a sacrifice.”

And it wasn't really a sacrifice - in that kind of profession, there was a fine line between just choosing the best and giving things up. Addictions went hand in hand with lucidity, just as the withdrawal from a normal life distanced you from the fact that not having a gun in your belt was like walking naked. You knew yourself; like any human being, you clung to the smallest moments of comfort, stability, joy and pleasure that arose. You were weak for the good life, tired of the constant resilience and warning signs that went off in your head every single day.

Again, you almost left him unanswered. Steve noticed your uncertainty, though. It scared the shit out of you.

“... It’s complicated.”

“Not that I want to be a bitch or something-”

“I know.”

“-But it’s a surprise.

If he still had the innocence to believe in the system that governed their lives, Steve would be indignant, be the church boy he always was. But no, that wasn’t the case - at least he didn’t show it. He had seen the real world too brutally to fill it with more moralism; otherwise he would ignore it, be rational, move on. Then he blew the smoke that was stuck inside his mouth, shook his head and smiled, all the while staring at the ashtray on his table.

“You two used to hate each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it some kind of kink? Love-hate stuff?”

You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head and mirroring the smirk he threw in your direction.

“At least it wasn't on my table,” Steve teased, as if coming to the realization just seconds before. “Isn’t that fucking considerate?”

As usual, you both laughed with an almost hopeless acceptance surrounding what little humor you shared. Not that it was fun, or worthy of such genuine laughs, just… That. Rational complicity. And you didn't want to ruin the moment, but inside there was another reason for your amusement - when you and Carrillo were making out in the building back in the day, maybe you bumped into something or other on Steve's desk, and you almost broke his desk lamp.

Rational complicity then, you decided, averting your gaze from Javier, who entered the office with nothing more than a grumbled ‘good morning’.

-------------------------

The landscape became more arid, spaced out - at the very least, isolated. You stared at the bodies splayed out on that cave, trying to somehow decipher what could not be deciphered. There was a morbid but equally cold atmosphere surrounding this discovery; you watched five Carrillo men taking one by one out of that hole, placing them side by side for further identification. The youngest of them was nothing more than 20 years old; at some point, you just turned your head to the side because the ones with more time there were already smelling.

You stomped to a distant spot and, making sure no one was looking, you threw up. Years of experience or all the circumstances of that job didn't always make you have such a strong stomach. Later that day, you found yourself in your apartment just to brush your teeth - that led to a few minutes of a shower you thought would clean all of those images inside your head.

Again, you sat alone in the office with more than enough whiskey inside a cup and a third cigarette ready to be lit between your lips. Steve rushed home to Connie; Javier had a puzzled expression on his face when he noticed that you would stay, but you assured him that it was okay, that nothing would happen. For the first time in days, you felt sure of something.

“Stechner will follow Juan Marcos' lead.”

You turned your eyes from the mountain of papers in front of you, brows raised at the sudden intrusion - out of politeness or not, your father didn’t ask what you were doing there. At worst, he took the cigarette out of your mouth and made you tsk.

“He can be more persuasive than the rest of us, I suppose,” You said nonchalantly. “Or just more than me.”

Again, if he noticed the way you eyed him up and down, probably too full of bitterness, your father decided to keep it to himself, both hands behind his back.

“You agree, then?”

“That's not a question you associate with someone like Stechner.” It sounded almost like a warning, a subtle message of how your ‘soft spot’ used to lead your conceptions and moral judgements to a place way more complicated for that line of work.

He hummed. Nodded his head. You thought that the conversation was over, of course, but you always should know better than to believe your father could be less than suffocating.

“I figured we could have dinner. I know a place nearby, still discreet enough.”

“Trying to make me feel better?”

“We're past the stage of understanding that this is your mother's job.”

The blunt honesty with which he said it made you consider the possibility more; it would be more than enough, spending some time with your father, to understand that there were people in life who knew how to make moments more bitter - or bitter enough to distract your mind from the worst.

So you accepted.

Frijoles Rancheros, he said with the best accent he had.

“Didn't you stop with that?” He said, again, this time without the flirty smile to the waitress or the good Spanish of his.

“Tried to,” You shrugged, cigarette finally being lit and the smoke flowing through the air.

“Not tryin’ anymore?”

“I needed to keep my list of disappointments with you,” With a smirk, you leaned more comfortably against the chair you sat at, legs crossed and eyes with that devilish spark he hated so much. “What brings you here? Stechner missed you licking his balls or something?”

“... We talked.” He said in a low, stern tone. “Apparently even the CIA knows how to recognize your work around here.”

“So you talked about me.”

“About your achievements, that is. Too emotional-”

“Of course,” You scoffed, dragging more of your cigarette with sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“-But efficient. The one raising your voice to the stubborn Colonel Horacio Carrillo.”

The mention made your stance falter, but just for a moment. You gave him a side-eye, then got back to look at anything but his face - not wanting to fail in your attempt to not show how affected you felt. It sounded like a sin, the fact that your father would use such an indifferent manner to talk about Horacio. How it was so easy for him, a man with so many flaws, to talk about Carrillo as if he was just as insignificant as… Anything. You grew defensive. The guy could still have that way of his, but you didn’t act (even before) like he was nothing.

“Is it supposed to be a bad thing?” You decided to ask instead, watching him sip his beer faster so he could answer.

“Have I already told the story of Cúcuta?”

Probably, but you didn’t pay enough attention back then and wouldn’t pay there. Still, he kept talking.

“We had discovered that some communist groups were regrouping and we took the National Police guys there. You know, for fact-finding.”

Or killing. Whatever he called it to make him lay his head on the pillow every night.

“We stayed there for two weeks. Maybe Carrillo was involved, I can't be sure,” But then he got quiet, as if it was the end of the story. After a few beats of silence, you made a face.

“And…?”

“Ah, well, I didn’t know he had that in him to become what he is now. Not the most remarkable cop, but committed to the cause. Very Catholic, however, he called his mother every day. It amazes me that he has come as far as being on the front lines to catch Escobar. It takes a certain obscurity to be good at this job.”

You considered it silently, watching your dad's grimaces as he just talked about the situation like it was a normal thing. Maybe it was after all. Reality was lighter if you took it as a routine, using conformism as a shield. You wondered if he knew about what happened with you that afternoon - if Carrillo, once, was the type of guy who would throw up because of it. You even wondered, with the space your father gave while simply not paying attention to you, what it would be like to meet that version of Horacio and whether he would make the same decisions, or think that this would be his future.

“I'm sure he has his own demons just like anyone else,” You said out of nowhere, taking in the way the man just watched your motions. “No one gets away with this kind of shit.”

“This shit is catching a communist pig like Escobar.”

Communist, you almost laughed, but you didn't argue. You couldn't even count the number of Americans involved in the lists of secondary cartels in the States, nor how many white-faced people who signed Republican votes negotiated with these 'communists', which only made you more skeptical of the idea of what you were really doing there or the kind of person you had the pleasure of not being raised by.

Under the circumstances, Carrillo's revulsion was understandable.

“You know, you really look like your mother.”

“Conscious?”

“Naive. Maybe not all the violence in the world will make you realize that we are not always the villains.”

“... No,” You puffed out more of the smoke, arching an eyebrow. “Sometimes you find a shallow ditch full of bodies and it turns out to be Escobar's fault.”

Because everything, from the bastard son who was hidden in the bowels of that country to the resistant hands of Juan Marcos against your neck, had a finger of the communists. If the pain you felt earlier or the pain you felt in childhood with his absence existed, it was because of the communists.

Damn communists.

-------------------------

You threw the other two packs of cigarettes in the trash that same night, as soon as you got back to the office.

With effort, you would remember to look for nicotine patches or anti-smoking gum in the morning.

-------------------------

Carrillo was familiar with the feeling of self-repression, and for some reason, he too deserved the strict discipline. Never a hair out of place, but that same hair wouldn't be styled any other way than the way he saw fit; short, practical, that was not an interruption but also a form of imposing.

This discipline made him learn that the way we present ourselves says something about us. That's why he really didn't understand why he saw you with a subtlety that definitely didn't exist in that job and, consequently, in you.

That day, you were at one of those reunions. The atmosphere was tense, as always, but Carrillo watched you climb on a small step to gain access to a higher part of the discreet shelf in the corner of the room to reach a cup, all the while laughing at something Peña was saying. It wasn't just the way your thighs flexed in the material of your jeans or the way everything felt tight enough that you had the flexibility to move; your manner changed, your modus operandi. There were no delicate mannerisms in your posture, nor in your approach - the harsh parts made you look like a hedgehog, even with that smile on your face.

If the whole situation had hurt you the way it seemed to him, if… that moment, inside the office, had a similar meaning, he didn't know, but he understood the mystery. There was so much going on and suddenly you had your dad and your issues and your life; Carrillo knew better than anyone that neither he nor you would want to bring up yet another drama.

He valued that effort, was familiar with it. As at other times when Horacio had to be the rational figure, the loneliness of being dedicated to a discipline was something he knew well how to live with.

Carrillo also knew your frustrations about your father were bubbling to the brim. You tried to cover it up as best you could, always scratching the back of your neck or looking away when a CIA decision interfered with the DEA's. It was obvious that hanging out with guys like him could be like idle work - he, of all people, knew that being here on the ground following more archaic strategies wasn't your style. Or worst: that his presence there meant that he was almost always a flawed tool of a plan he was never fully a part of.

For him, watching you was like watching all the energy that walked beside your manners when you arrived disappearing because, in the end, it sounded as if only he, Horacio, saw the full magnitude of your achievements and efforts. Like an awed spectator of a hungry muse, all teeth and claws for what she believed but cutting off by… the others.

“You know that’s bullshit, right?” You said then, sitting at the edge of the table after serving a good amount of coffee. “I remember seeing you there and I’m pretty sure the night ended really differently.”

“Well, we didn't say goodbye on my doorstep.”

Carrillo frowned at the suggestion, especially at the way you two seemed to forget he was there too, watching Javier using that natural flirty personality with you. And then you turned to see Steve walking in with Trujillo, away from the commotion, and when Horacio decided that it was his sign to stop staring at you, he saw Peña himself sending him a curious gaze.

That day, Horacio discovered that Javier had been measuring the situation like a scientific project.

“No tenemos tiempo para esto.” We don't have time for this.

Was all Carrillo said as soon as the reunion was over and they were walking side by side down the corridor.

“No se de que estas habl-” I don’t know what you're talking ab-.

“Tu sabes.” You know.

They both stopped in their tracks, interrupted by the Colonel's gruff voice and the way he jerked him around with a shoulder pull. Javier frowned, tried to understand where that all came from, then raised his eyebrows at the realization. He sighed, looked around and put his hands on his hips.

“¿Alguien te ha dicho alguna vez que no eres la persona más sutil que hay?” Has anyone ever told you that you're not the most subtle person around?

Horacio kept quiet. Caught.

“Su padre es un gilipollas, quizás uno de los peores con los que me he cruzado. Ha dejado muy claro que quiere la oportunidad adecuada para sacarla de aquí.” Her father is an asshole, maybe one of the worst I've ever come across. He's made it very clear that he wants the right opportunity to get her out of here.

And for a moment, Carrillo almost understood those motivations. If he was a worried parent, he wouldn't sleep easy knowing his only daughter was putting herself in front of bullets or curled up in the arms of a fucking narco, nearly suffocated to death. He himself didn't like to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time.

“... No estaba coqueteando con ella, si eso es lo que te preocupa. Nunca saldríamos bien, esa mujer es una diabla.” I wasn't flirting with her, if that's what you're worried about. We would never work out, that woman is a devil.

True. So true.

“Pero es mejor que decidas qué va a ser de eso, porque está bastante claro que te estás engañando a ti mismo.” But you better decide what's going to become of it, because it's pretty clear you're kidding yourself.

Javier didn't elaborate, and despite not being the most sensitive of men, Carrillo knew when he was being put up against something he was avoiding. As Peña walked away with a frustrated posture, he wondered if that was the effect he had on you, of disappointment at being… him.

Of course, he didn't openly mention this to anyone, nor did he feel able to do so; to the fullest, he reinforced his serious expression when he saw you leave the operating room and look for someone. You looked one way, then the other, and saw him standing there. Something must have gone through your mind with the way you swallowed hard and clenched your fists - Carrillo wondered if it was the same memory of that night in your apartment, when you were still fresh from sex and with other perspectives.

For an instant, just one, he felt it. Like a replica of that same night.

When he was the first to look away, smothered by the idea and tempted by the sensation you offered those days, Carrillo knew he was probably letting you down again.

As he should.

-------------------------

You felt frustrated. You'd been having that feeling for a while before the whole Carrillo situation, but it wasn't like you could deny that that disappointment had lessened dramatically once you'd spent time in his bed.

They began to monitor letters sent by employees exported from the States. Peña always walked around with an even more frown on having the letters he sent to his father being invaded in this way and, as much as Steve didn't complain while having Connie there, he complained about the intrusion just like Javier.

You felt suffocated.

That’s how you ended up getting fucked inside a restroom stall, legs attached to the sides of the hips of a guy named Carlos and dress hiked up to make it easy for him to access… you. Or your decency, if such a term existed at the moment. There was an effort there, though. Carlos made the time well spent. When you went home that night, maybe you really were more relaxed, your shoulders less rigid and your spine relaxed.

But there was a reason you couldn't sleep a wink that night.

Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo.

Perhaps, you tried to justify, it was because there was a greater reason than just the attraction with the two of you. There was an almost paranoid fear that the days were uncertain, the daily stress of a job that seemed to be failing and the frustrations - Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo. The kisses, the touches, the look; two opposites. You would close your eyes if you were Horacio, you would sleep like you haven't slept in days. Surely you wouldn't wash yourself so vehemently after sex either if it was him.

It wasn’t though. It was Carlos.

So when the phone rang around two, you got up without difficulty and answered it on the second ring. There was no need to rub your eyes to chase away sleep because it didn't exist, even if physical fatigue made you massage your shoulder while listening to a brief recorded message from a woman saying it was a private and recorded call.

“¿Es usted responsable del caso de Juan Marcos de las Puentes?” Are you responsible for the case of Juan Marcos de las Puentes?

The voice was too Latin to be Javier's and too different to be Carrillo's; even if it were one of them, they wouldn't use Spanish or act like they didn't know you. Your first reaction was frown - and the second, unconsciously, was to look around as if the answer to the as yet unspoken question was in your living room.

“... Sí. ¿Quien habla?” Yes. Who’s speaking?

“Soy Frances Tenorio, directora encargada del Centro Especial de Detención de Medellín.” I'm Frances Tenorio, director in charge of the Medellín Special Detention Center.

The last time someone called you this late at night, five years ago, was when the family found out that your grandmother had passed away. Your uncles, two other men who lived in the South, asked if it made sense for you to help them with the funeral arrangements - not that there was any intimacy to it, but because she would like to be treated with a delicacy that none of the three had. You took responsibility because you knew your father wouldn't do it out of hurt. He never had a good relationship with his mother.

Still, all that cold commitment to ensuring that the body was well treated and the ceremony well organized, such as the mass that took place seven days later, did not compare to the coldness with which you reacted to Frances' words.

There was no clarification and you didn't ask; just requests you weren’t so used to having, but obliged anyway. You listened to the instructions, hung up, got dressed - gun in the holster, badge on your belt. When you left, you locked the apartment door as usual, walked down the hall, got in the car and realized that the radio was still on a specific station, at that time of night repeating romantic songs. You didn’t turn it off.

Your mind hesitated to do the call - you didn’t want to. Circumstances did not have an exact logic in the chronology of the facts that you knew. Juan Marcos wasn’t supposed to be there, least in Medellín. Whatever the fuck Stechner tried to do wouldn’t be placed there for obvious reasons. There were at least five people who received that kind of information before you, and suddenly the director of a place you didn't even know was part of Juan Marcos' punishment had your phone number. It was statistical to know that no one died like that at a time like this - the guy was a bull, healthy from head to toe, with at most a late tetanus vaccine.

Then, all of the sudden-

“As I said, dead.”

Frances didn't have the best of English, but the heavily accented words made a lot of sense in your ears, even if they didn't make sense on their own. His office was poorly lit, and generally speaking, you had a lot of questions, but you just stared at that death certificate with nothing but open confusion on your face. Perhaps it was the way you lagged to say something, because Frances kept talking.

“The National Police was already warned about-”

“The National Police?” You abruptly raised your head.

“It's the norm. Rules. I couldn't let another gringo into my jail alone.”

Before you could ask what he meant or process the information, you noticed someone entering the door and, of course, it needed to be Carrillo. The National Police. He looked at you with a big frown, then at the officers behind and Frances - mad.

“¿Desde cuándo es este un protocolo aceptable?” Since when is this an acceptable protocol? Horacio asked in a harsh tone, standing right beside you. Looking at the door again, you spotted Trujillo, confused and a little taken aback by the sudden situation.

��Llegaron los gringos y tenían orden de interrogatorio. Eso es protocolo, tú lo sabes mejor que nadie.” The gringos showed up and had an interrogation warrant. That's protocol, you know that better than anyone.

“Que gringos?”

The silence that followed, short but helpful, was like an obvious answer to an even more obvious question. You faced the early death certificate, then Carrillo, who didn't express any reaction. You, by yourself, couldn’t express any reaction.

“I want to see the body.”

“Qué?” What?

“Do you think that’s a good id-”

“Quiero ver el cuerpo. ¿Ahora me entiendes?” I want to see the body. Do you understand me now?

Carrillo wasn’t combative with your interruption, nor with the way you were snappy with Frances; otherwise, he nodded in approval of your request, as if none of that hadn't already been the same as everyone in that jail dropping their pants for the CIA's threats, as if they needed just Carrillo’s approval.

At some point in your education, you learned about the special rooms for political prisoners during the communist uprising and the government's quiet work of putting down Sierra Maestra-influenced guerrillas. 64, the formative year of half the men inside those halls and, arguably, the golden memories of that Frances Tenorio. With the 'peace sealed' by right-wing groups, you knew that many of these rooms became normal interrogation spaces or, as in the case of that institution, an improvised mortuary that looked more like a shallow spawning pit.

Fractured skull from a fall, the obituary said. They were opening an internal investigation into a possible gang rebellion.

Juan Marcos was a man nearly six feet tall, with truly thick arms, long legs, and robust from head to toe. You knew his weight, strength and physical skills like no one else. The hands, you noticed, did not bear a single mark of retaliation or defense. You would know if he had; moreover, healed from the clash with you months earlier. Looking from there, with nothing but a pale, lifeless face, motionless, you noticed that Juan Marcos looked no less frightening or dangerous or… Well, the face of a criminal.

You wondered how many guys came to do the job. Two to tie, one to intimidate - maybe one more to watch. They used to had this one.

“Is your father in Medellín?” Carrillo asked in a low tone, not daring to disturb the intense staring you’re giving the guy right in front of you two.

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head slightly, then turned to Frances. “Stechner.”

“Protocol.” Was all he said, already turning to leave the room but probably standing still on the other side of the door.

Three fingernails had been torn out and there were electric shock marks on his nipples, groin and mouth. The face was disfigured and torn by what looked like blows; if you turned him on his side, you probably would see the marks on the backs of the knees just as you saw them on the wrists and heels. The corpus delicti examination, still unsigned as well as the obituary, only recorded the head injury that didn't really exist - done with a typewriter that probably came from the office you had come not so shortly before.

When you raised your head, Carrillo was watching you carefully, measuring every reaction that could come out of your neutral expression. He knew how it was. He did it himself. You could see that, probably, he was just mad that he wasn't responsible for it. Maybe you were too, just a little - deep down, better saying.

“I need a cig.”

The conversation must have lasted ten, fifteen minutes? You only managed to finish the first one, leaning against the hood of the car and alone in the side parking lot of the prison. The nicotine patch must have been lost somewhere in those hallways and his arm was still marked by the glue. When you went to take the second cigarette in your mouth, you saw Horacio approach and also the way your hands were shaking. He chose not to be at your side, but in front of you; as soon as you lit the cigarette, you kept both elbows resting on the car hood behind you.

No one said anything for a good minute. When you dared to give him a look, just once, Carrillo was lighting a cigarette for him - something way stronger than yours, as always.

“What was it?” You broke the silence with a single question, one he just shrugged at first. “I’ll give it an hemorrhagic shock.”

“I’ll give it a fractured skull from a fall.”

“Please,” You scoffed, raising the cigarette to your lips again.

“The CIA put in their report that the last operation didn’t suffer any casualties. I had to sign two letters of removal and I almost signed one of death. So yes, a fractured skull from a fall. ”

It was difficult. You knew it was. When you started to get close to him and understand a little more of what was there, under the skin, you could see that his biggest frustrations were in the fact that the potential of his work was limited. There would always be a Stechner, a CIA, a DEA, a bunch of outsiders with funny accents and shitty Spanish. That he, as a man and as a professional, always had the cards in his hand but would only play them if someone from above said so; that when he started to overcome this hierarchy, he was banished to Madrid and then back with a freedom tied in very loose halters, under conditions that you didn't know, out of sheer whim.

Carrillo knew those marks and those consequences - many had his name transcribed. And he could say it was hemorrhagic shock or whatever the fuck fucked up Juan Marcos' life, but you both knew that outcome held particular satisfaction for him. At least enough to accept it unchallenged.

“... He was my suspect,” You said in a defeated tone, blowing smoke in the air. “It's pretty stupid of me to think they'd at least consult me first, right? To say they would come here to destroy the guy?”

“Yeah. But you’re smart all the same.”

“Not enough to not do the math on why my dad pretended he wanted to have dinner with me.”

“He wanted?”

“He did it.” You responded vehemently, tapping your thumb on the end of your cigarette to knock out more of the ash. “I should have known better when I saw him there in the office so late at night. Talking about Stechner taking the lead as if he wasn’t already planning on killing the motherfucker.”

“And do you think it would have made a difference if you had known?”

“... No.”

You didn't say it was because you were witnessing what your father could do for the first time and that it scared the shit out of you; they were childish thoughts. After years of paddling against the tide, seeing him miss his own mother's wake and even all the disappointments he could’ve caused you, everything was more tolerable when his stories were just that: stories. You also had your share of lives under your belt: one guy in Compton, one in South Beach, one more in a warehouse during a drug traffic operation. Still, you learned to live with them because it was your job. Yours only. And sometimes you could forget that someone who was supposed to give you a little more petting reduced you to one more small obstacle to doing his.

Again. And again. And again.

You felt stupid. Naive. Again.

“It’s like fucking Hotel California,” You muttered, eyes closed and fingers massaging your temple.

“Like what?” He asked in sincere curiosity, making you look at him in time to spot his own cigarette mid air.

“Like the song. On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…? Nothing?” Your hands gesticulated.

“Too gringo for me,” Carrillo inhaled on his cigarette and pretended (pretended) he was keeping a straight face. You rolled your eyes.

“Your friend Frances must agree with that.”

“By your time here, you should know that not everyone trusts you.”

“There’s a few exceptions.” You defended.

“Yeah, some people might lose certain opinions for one person or another.”

With another drag on your cigarette, you let out a low 'huh' and shook your head, but when you glanced back at Carrillo, you saw that he was watching you with a very wide gaze. Again, measuring your reactions, as if trying to send a message with his silence. You did the same.

It's been a while since you've been like this, with time to observe each other and capture details that captivated your encounters. He was more tired, visibly fresh out of his static spot in the office on the upper floors, probably with a couple of glasses of whiskey in his system. Damn pretty, you could add. Prettier than Carlos - poor Carlos.

He broke eye contact first.

“You’ll talk with your father?”

“Well, at least to know if it was hemorrhagic shock.”

“I don't know if this will make you sleep better.”

“Nah,” You shrugged, tilting your head to the side. “Just looks like I forgot the guy can be sadistic as fuck.”

“Habit.”

“Personality.”

Again, silence. This time though, you were the first one to break eye contact, mostly because that thing got into a place you wouldn’t like to go. You didn’t tell Carrillo, probably wouldn’t, but your mind was building scenarios and creating perspectives about something you really preferred to forget.

Your mom always knew better - you wished you weren't so curious as to choose the same career as your father to know what kind of shit he did.

“You’re going back to the office?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He walked in your direction, but went straight to the door to open it. Before he could do it, though, Carrillo turned to you. “I would do the same.”

You nodded.

“I know.”

“And you too.”

“Not with the same motivation,” You looked at him nonchalantly. “I have personal reasons. The type I could understand.”

“He don’t?”

“Well, we’re not the same,” Another shrug, this time dragging more of the cigarette before blowing the smoke out the side. “Perhaps I’m more different for not being adept at this, but is it really that different? I don't feel guilt, but I do feel angry that he disappeared with a guy who could give me information. Screw his life, right?”

“... Sometimes this type of life makes us forget that we are humans. You're not Gandhi or any shit like that, you're you. Flesh, bone and a gun in hand, ready to fire at the right time. I would do it, because I know what he's done to other people, but I've also seen what he's done to you.”

He took a step closer - just one. And when you instinctively backed away with your eyes closed and a hurt murmur coming from your throat, Carrillo froze in place.

“We don’t need to talk-”

“I know.”

“But stop playing with me, Horacio. Stop.” For a moment, he looked confused, then noticed something that perhaps even you didn’t and nodded in defeat. “Don’t be like him. Not now.”

Don't be opportunistic like him, don't be selfish like him, don't be capricious like him, don't use you like he always did. That's what you meant. That he shouldn’t pretend he didn’t say no twice and approached you later with some kind of warm conversation because it seemed convenient. You didn't need it - what you wanted and what you accepted he denied too quickly.

“... I’ll be back in the office.” You said after a time, eyes on the floor right where the cigarette landed and hand brushing your left eyebrow. “Body identified, death certificates and stuff like that. It's just, isn't it? Do you proceed from here?”

Carrillo gulped, considered your face like a brave man and said a simple ‘yes’ before insisting on opening the goddamn door for you. And you let him, even when he stood there, the door now closed, staring at you through the open window.

“Good night, Colonel.”

“... Good night.”

He tapped the opening twice, took three long steps back and inhaled on the cigarette which, as you had barely noticed, was still lit in his hand. You watched him through the rearview mirror, just for a moment longer, and after that split opportunity you also stared at your own eyes - coming to a conclusive revelation. One you already knew, in fact.

Carlos was Carlos. Carrillo was Carrillo.

And damn you for always choosing the complicated ones.

--------------------------

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@mysoulisasunflower

#colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo fic #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos #maurice compte #female reader

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ericleo108 · 9 months ago

Text

The Industry

03/01/2024 Click here for Spotify, Apple Music, or Youtube. “The Industry” is my 71st official release and my 106th track published. This is my biggest and most elaborate release so far. It has more features than tracks. This has been a long time in the making. I had some trouble getting the features through my distributor but distrokid came through for me. The beats and major feature production comes from Anno Domini. The entire project was mixed and mastered by Keyano and the cover art is by Gigzlogo from Fiverr.

I talk about this blog post and other updates in the latest Sunday update here:

youtube

This album is called “The Industry” because it features many artists, big and small, from the music industry while also being about “The industry” as in the economy. I did the best I could with the limited resources I have. I would like to thank Anno Domini for this opportunity and for make this a dream come true and Thank you to all the featured artist.

90% of the CO2 in the atmosphere over the last 10 years came from 3 products, gas, oil and coal. This is who I’m referring to when I say “Big Carbon.” I was gonna just say “big oil” but it’s more than just big oil and saying “carbon” is really focusing on the problem.

The album approaches sociological problems and by the middle I bring in my personal perspective. I firmly believe we have a lot of the problems we do because religion which distorts zealots worldveiw. Thinking being gay is wrong, the earth is only 6 thousand years old, or the rapture is gonna happen really affects how people perceive and affect the world, and since we live in a democracy, political and societal outcomes as well. I believe inaccuracy in thinking comes from the distorted worldview of religion, and in America that means chirstianity. This means it’s fundamental to attack followers reality at it’s core because it is the basis in which they project their actions. I just hope Kurupt isn’t a devote christian or he might be upset.

I do not condone violence peroid, let alone against congress members, although I think they basically deserve it. With that said, I tried showing Mitch McConnell as little respect as possible. You know, I’m human too and between his policies, greed, and lust for power representing an abhorrent party that he has enabled to regress the nation, it’s not hard to hate him, and as an artist I’m just tapping into that very real sentiment. People will cheer when he dies like they will Dick Cheney or how they did Harry Kissenger. The world would be a better place if you off’d yourself Mitch. Not because your death would solve our problems, but because your influence on power needs to end. Honestly, I don’t like Mitt Romney, but I took a different approach and said people should be like him because he’s actually retiring. Listen, I know the replacements might be worse, but they could also be way better. I would be satisfied with a maximum age requirement if we couldn’t get term limits.

This release was going to be 12 tracks long, not 10. I had the hardest time getting this published. I went through CDbaby and it got rejected. I published it without the KRS-One or Gucci Mane feature track. After much deliberation, I have since went through distrokid to publish the “Heavy Hitters” EP which has the Krs, Gucci, and a snoop dogg feature that was supposed to be on the “Westside Connection” album but got rejected by CDbaby as well.

Lyrics:

America in Decline - Cappadonna, ZENRequium

Big Carbon - Kook G Rap, Duce McGuire

Smeagol - Cam’ron

Bomg First - Jadakiss, Soul Stretch

Captalism - Rich G

A Lesson

Honey - Kurupt

The Cold - Planet Asia

Independent - Juvenile

Lace Em Up

America In Decline

Ayo

To all my young brothers that hustle and flip

Get your money be humble

Killer bees everywhere yo we call it the Jungle

Some real nice Cheba

The government control that medical refund

Tattoo on my stomach that's the symbol of death

Yo I'm coming

You only got a little bit of time left

Back out the hood

I be the reclaimer

I punch deceivers in the face and roll on the flame

Hooky player

Survival of your forcedness

The board of education and all of that court shit

I'm from the street first then I went corporate

I'm out in Cali somewhere eating crawfish

I'ma pescatarian my ex-girl whorish

The angel of rap and country like a tourist

Even the terrorists

Know I got the rawness

The whole world ain't nothing but a fake Egypt

With these Devils acting like they tryna lead it (ayo)

I'm bout to leave here on a ship

Niggas turn zombie's they receiving the chip

I'm out here

With my mind on flip

I'm in the zone

Got the garlic in my system

My whole team drop knowledge and wisdom

We drop knowledge and wisdom

America in decline

Can’t afford to find

A house, food, education

Or care for your child

It was all by design

By the oligarchy

You can’t make ends meet

Cuz they rigged the economy

America in decline

Can’t afford to find

A house, food, education

Or care for your child

It was all by design

By the oligarchy

You can’t make ends meet

Cuz they rigged the economy

While you struggle to cop it

And made a deposit

Corporations make record profits

Billionaires are leaving on rockets

And you are left to pay costs kids

Vampires should suck dick

Seamen has more life than blood

They looking at me like

I know what it was

When they changed the rules

Made America loose

By listening to fools

And never replacing them with new

Blood, new faces

America disgraced with

Wretches that won’t have to face

The destruction that all their laws have made

From restructuring to give money to the paid

They’ll be dead and gone

But America will fall

Cuz what they did is wrong

And a selfish con

Guess the Process

Is to stifle all the progress

Feather they’re own nest

And reap all the profits

America in decline

Can’t afford to find

A house, food, education

Or care for your child

It was all by design

By the oligarchy

You can’t make ends meet

Cuz they rigged the economy

America in decline

Can’t afford to find

A house, food, education

Or care for your child

It was all by design

By the oligarchy

You can’t make ends meet

Cuz they rigged the economy

Most of the world living on child support

Instead of talkin’ shit out

They’d rather take it to court

I used to think I was rich man

I realized I’m poor

That’s why I take an opportunity

When it knocks on the door

I drop bombs with psalms

To feed my mind so I’m calm

If you don’t see it or believe it

Let me sound the alarm

And I ain’t running from the problem

Imma face it head on

I used think I was a man

Now I see I was wrong

It was all designed with a higher power in mind

They got money to start wars

Is feeding the poor a crime?

What if we all fortify?

Stand together unified

We could stop all the lies

I promise they’d be petrified

America in decline

We can’t afford the disease

A hundred people have to die so that one lives with ease

America in decline

We can’t afford the disease

A hundred people have to die so that one lives with ease

America in decline

Can’t afford to find

A house, food, education

Or care for your child

It was all by design

By the oligarchy

You can’t make ends meet

Cuz they rigged the economy

America in decline

Can’t afford to find

A house, food, education

Or care for your child

It was all by design

By the oligarchy

You can’t make ends meet

Cuz they rigged the economy

___________________________________

Big Carbon

(Kook G Rap Lyrics Unknown)

Fuck big carbon, they’re the problem

They bought the news so they control the column

Been licensed, to pollute commons

And stifle innovation, top to bottom

Fuck big carbon, they’re the problem

They bought the news so they control the column

Been licensed, to pollute commons

And stifle innovation, top to bottom

You wanna invest

In income-producing assets

That make you money

That’s steady and passive

You won’t survive long unless you stretch

I still hope for the best but expect regret

I’m talking to the cats that I never met

I wish you peace my friend a bed to rest

Don’t ever let um convince you

Your needs shouldn’t be met

Everything is free

You just need materials and labor

Corporate endorsements

Are when the police protect property

Over the environment

That they pollute silently

So I dissent and live defiantly

While Carbon heating the entirety

Global criminal conduct is how science sees it

The pollution, kills millions a year

While they lobby and interfere

With policy to limit there’s

While they should really be in jail

Fuck big carbon, they’re the problem

They bought the news so they control the column

Been licensed, to pollute commons

And stifle innovation, top to bottom

Fuck big carbon, they’re the problem

They bought the news so they control the column

Been licensed, to pollute commons

And stifle innovation, top to bottom

Now they pretend to be spiritual individuals

Testing us like a physical

Kill us with chemicals

Confiscate our residuals

Poisonous minerals

Force fed by the cynical

Think they school’um

But disregard the principles

Actin invincible

And aint talk’n mic in the mechanics

But all we need is a miracle

But they don’t like it when we’re lyrical

The devil’s being disguised

But we’re conscious they’re identical

But still got the keys to the solution

Cuz that big carbon pollution

Got’um contradicting their constitution

And then COVID cost so much confusion

Then they blinded up with stimulus checks

And called it a contribution?

Just be mindful of your investments

Success ain’t meant to be comfortable

Remain restless

And stay attended to your checklist

Don’t let’um slow you down

Keep use of motion until you’re breathless

Fuck big carbon, they’re the problem

They bought the news so they control the column

Been licensed, to pollute commons

And stifle innovation, top to bottom

Fuck big carbon, they’re the problem

They bought the news so they control the column

Been licensed, to pollute commons

And stifle innovation, top to bottom

____________________________________________

Smeagol

I say see no evil hear no evil

No I can’t compare to people

Take a needle, try a shot

Heroine, I swear it’s lethal!

You’ll be throwin’ up mean lean

Dozzin’ off wake ‘em up

Hurry up tell ‘em that he owe the boss

And he know the cost mob night holocaust

Mob lights flower tossed

Hard white throw us off

Gucci this dress pants Lenox sweater

Yes France

Just glance, wanna fight!?

Here I am let’s dance!

Do-si-do you lookin’ like a lovely ho

One, two bloody nose dripped down on his bloody clothes

Got what you wanted, I make it stick

Ain’t got to be handicap man make a wish

What you want Laker tick’s? Ski slopes, major trips?

Razor to ya neck disrespect I’ll lay ‘em stiff.

Round table round off sound off damn let the pound off!

I’ll show you what is lethal

And Infecting the people

Turning them into Smeagol

Like they Anemic and feeble

Like plastics in your blood

Pathogens in puss

Earthquakes, wildfires

Famine and floods

I’ll show you what is lethal

And Infecting the people

Turning them into Smeagol

Like they Anemic and feeble

Like plastics in your blood

Pathogens in puss

Earthquakes, wildfires

Famine and floods

Like Covid from the lab

Spreading across the map

Killing all your moms and dads

Leavein homeless children sad

Lethal like a chemical spill

Of dioxins that kill

Agent Orange, where’s the source

That left your newly born deformed?

The payment for the rent is tall

While families aren’t at all involved

Take oxycontin when hurt and fall

And end up addicted to Fentynyl

War in the middle-east, Russia and Ukrain

Give us an excuse to sell them weapons and then bang

No healthcare from the burn pits

That cause asthma and the serpent

Lies bout what the purpose is

How they thank you for your service kid

When you Paywall healthcare Inequality kills

But corporations are fulfilled for denying the bill

While they pray in the steeple,

We put money over people

I bet you heard, protect and serve

But they use their guns instead of words

Safety is a fallacy, with rampant police brutality

They show up at the rally scene

Turn to violence and battery

I’ll show you what is lethal

And Infecting the people

Turning them into Smeagol

Like they Anemic and feeble

Like plastics in your blood

Pathogens in puss

Earthquakes, wildfires

Famine and floods

I’ll show you what is lethal

And Infecting the people

Turning them into Smeagol

Like they Anemic and feeble

Like plastics in your blood

Pathogens in puss

Earthquakes, wildfires

Famine and floods

_______________________________

Bomb First

Three and a half years if they catch you with a gat

All that mean now is that niggas is shootin’ back

War is something I got the taste for

Out on bail bigger gun than the one I got the case for

Never can tell what I might do I ain’t nothing like you

I put my Dutch out on your night boots

Pull my nuts out on yo wife in the mic booth

Then situate with her at the end of the night too

Those were the happy days these the real years

Niggas is brain dead in shit bags and wheelchairs

For the record I don’t give a fuck who ya team is

And you don’t want it with me ‘cause I’m an extremist (Ugh)

Get back, take that, this rap, we blast

What’s a rat to a cat, or a bomb to a gat

An opinion to facts, guessing compared to the math?

This a stick-up, bitch what, give me what you have

Like Pac, we bomb first

We act, while you ponder

We adapt, you dishonor

What you have and leave squandered

I learned to be gangster from congress

Support the enterprise for profit

Lobby money with stock tips

Like the drug money you pocket

The real terrorists are republicans

The gun-toting Smith-n-west’n grins

That come from killing the innocent

And claiming they deserved the shit

You small time, just tryna to survive

But if you get caught you’ll do more time

For selling drugs than a rapist

Makes sense if it’s a racist

System with most of the cases

We make criminals of patients

Yea Marijuana still illegal, although it’s medicine for people

A textile, a food, with no overdose, but claim that it’s lethal

Are you a broke citizen down on your luck

Well find a way to get your money up cuz we don’t give a fuck

Get back, take that, this rap, we blast

What’s a rat to a cat, or a bomb to a gat

An opinion to facts, guessing compared to the math?

This a stick-up, bitch what, give me what you have

Like Pac, we bomb first

We act, while you ponder

We adapt, you dishonor

What you have and leave squandered

I learned to be gangster from congress

Support the enterprise for profit

Lobby money with stock tips

Like the drug money you pocket

Why we try to fake like we don't know our system is wrong?

Its the land of the free?

It's independently owned

I could try to

hold up, let me break it down in a song

I could try to, hold up

If you smart about your taxes

you might not even pay

And it's legal in your business

You can buy them away

Or you donate it to "Charity”

This is not advice

And we just talking

This is therapy

More and more

I feeling like we living in a parody

Only say I worry we ain't aware of the

Effect that we gone have

And Imma say this with sincerity

Every generation getting harder even barely

And even when I think of having kids it start scare me

Get back, take that, this rap, we blast

What’s a rat to a cat, or a bomb to a gat

An opinion to facts, guessing compared to the math?

This a stick-up, bitch what, give me what you have

Like Pac, we bomb first

We act, while you ponder

We adapt, you dishonor

What you have and leave squandered

I learned to be gangster from congress

Support the enterprise for profit

Lobby money with stock tips

Like the drug money you pocket

________________________________

Capitalism

Get the elderly out of Congress

How much have the fucks

Already cost us?

Capitalism works

That’s why millennials are poor

Gen Z is even worse

And both parties want the war

Thanks for the carbon

You left for your children

You literally got them coal

And robbed them of a pension

They enacted their vision

But it corrupted the mission

And Boomers left a society of despotism

You know I mean?

Can you feel me?

Let me rip a minute

On these insipid decisions

And intended intention

Of the economic agenda

Trickle down economics

You gotta be fucking kidding me

Kill yourself

If you think it’s answer economically

Capitalists make money off disasters

They got the shock doctrine mastered

And make global warming happen

They’ll buy with no logos

Sell it with girls that are Gogo

Say the love is all Eros

And it’s meant for the pharoes

Cuz it makes fat cash destroying things

Just look at Oprah and Hawaii

Just set up a charity to funnel your money

And get it back in taxes, singing and humming

How it’s so terrible, my property value rose

From a disaster that left the island tattered

Disaster capitalism is on the rise

And makes society more stratified

Your misfortune is by design

Because they like you desptotic when they buy

Global warming is old, all they are is frontin

They make new ways take and plunder

We knew about carbon pollution in the late 1800 hundreds

And big oil is still trying to convince us it’s nothing

Capitalism works

That’s why millennials are poor

Gen Z is even worse

And both parties want the war

Thanks for the carbon

You left for your children

You literally got them coal

And robbed them of a pension

Capitalism works

That’s why millennials are poor

Gen Z is even worse

And both parties want the war

Thanks for the carbon

You left for your children

You literally got them coal

And robbed them of a pension

You know I’m saying?

These fucks man

So glad Mitch McConnell died

Cuz he’s an awful senator

You know they could retire

But they cling to power

That’s why we hate him

It’s selfish and pervasive

In the Senate chambers

To stay and embrace it

Look, You’re not gracious

For bogarting a replacement

That’s more tenacious

And doesn’t wanna enslave us

It’s not advantageous

To have geriatrics takes and

Are also patients

It affects whole nation

Won’t let you fly an airline past sixty-five

But if you wanna run a country

You can do it till you die

We got all these politicians holden on to power

When they should be Mitt, take a hint, and retire

Capitalism works

That’s why millennials are poor

Gen Z is even worse

And both parties want the war

Thanks for the carbon

You left for your children

You literally got them coal

And robbed them of a pension

Capitalism works

That’s why millennials are poor

Gen Z is even worse

And both parties want the war

Thanks for the carbon

You left for your children

You literally got them coal

And robbed them of a pension

You make me do this

Rich G

You know that right?

Try and change the system from within and it changes you

So I'm stacking change what else you expect Rich to do

Corporate lobbying has the ear plus pockets of politicians

Follow the money to make sense of their decisions

Corrupt officials ain't just a third world issue

Defense contractors enriched each time we shoot a missile

Consumer society created planned obsolescence

Pushing insecurities through ads on adolescents

Valentines days invented by hallmark cupids a profiteer

This a letter in a card to say its fucked up dear

I'm sincere we need an overhaul of the government

Conglomerates have it their way and we loving it

Capitalism works

That’s why millennials are poor

Gen Z is even worse

And both parties want the war

Thanks for the carbon

You left for your children

You literally got them coal

And robbed them of a pension

Capitalism works

That’s why millennials are poor

Gen Z is even worse

And both parties want the war

Thanks for the carbon

You left for your children

You literally got them coal

And robbed them of a pension

Get the elderly out of congress

There should be term limits

If we want progress

Listen, if if you can be too young to run the country,

you can be too old

And that’s all

____________________________________

A Lesson

This is just a fair warning

I love to get horny

And give a fuck, what your story

Not yet, you’re not sorry

Ever since the inner circle I’ve stepped in

I’ve been sharpening lyrical weapon

To slit your throat, make um joke

About how you been flex’n

Haven’t done a mixtape in years, ya know

My music’s all original

Put in work, and ya I’m finna blow

And get paid off the residual

I would love some MCEE

To have a problem with me

Say my name, and make it sting

While make’n a scene

I ain’t scared of you

I’m flattered dude

I ain’t gonna battle you

I’ll serve you in a dark padded booth

So don’t bring me negativity

Unless you want some energy

That aggressive and offensively

Exposes what you pretend to be

No one owns my mechanical

No one takes my publishing

I say what I want

And make money from stunt’n see

I’m a grown adult with a baby face

You ain’t gonna take my place

You ain’t got the mental state

To keep up with my pace

I’m a vetran, could wreck them

But rather make’um my brethren

Give an ultimatum to uphold

As I expose the deception

Fuck what you think

You ain’t convincing me

Unless you have overwhelming evidence

This is how it’s gonna be

Bitch shut the fuck up, why you talkin that shit

You sound like a child, that’s throwing a fit

You never grew up, but blew up big

They’re what you consume cuz you still a kid

You get what you give

And they ain’t into shit rap

This ain’t a diss track

It’s a lesson for your bitch ass

I could make amends

Yeah, I’m down to make friend

But that’s not the intent

Of motivation you intend

You didn’t jock me when I’zz underground

Said you were down with the sound

Now you wanna come around

Like you was alway down

Gi’me an excuse

To write about the truth

Rap it in the booth

And make this happen to you

I ain’t never had a rap beef

Don’t want one, but I’d happily

Show you that I have teeth

And run it like an Athlete

I’m sure its not your too big to respond

It’s the contract your on

It doesn’t allow freedom at all

To defend your own honor

What’s more important is the dollar

Its not from your squalor

And the rights that you squandered

Who wants your Dumbass comments anyways

We were happy that you went away

They want to run, be free today

From you and your stupid ways

You feel no shame

From the problems you create

But if you want to inundate

I figured you could get a taste

Fuck what you think

You ain’t convincing me

Unless you have overwhelming evidence

This is how it’s gonna be

Bitch shut the fuck up, why you talkin that shit

You sound like a child, that’s throwing a fit

You never grew up, but blew up big

They’re what you consume cuz you still a kid

You get what you give

And they ain’t into your shit rap

This ain’t a diss track

It’s a lesson for your bitch ass

______________________________-

Honey

I want this shit banging in my headphones, you understand me

Let me hear that beat

You dig

I'ma address some shit

Let y'all niggas know the real

I've been dormant for too long

Hibernating

Everybody want it, but do you wanna get it

I'm sick of all these niggas bullshitting

I'm sick of all these bitches

I'm sick of how these bitch niggas tripping

And how y'all get these passes to these snitches

Neighborhood crippling

Dog pound gangsters in the building

I'ma treat these niggas like bitches

Show em to the wolves and the vultures

The hyenas and my siblings

So they can experience what they say they really living

Man, let me show you how deep it really gets

And then I'ma show you the power of membership

One on the hip, illegal extended clip

I'ma show you niggas the power of membership

The viking and the villain

Riddling, couldn't stop this adrenaline

Mind bending forensic technical chemist

One for the bro, walk up and explode

I'ma show you niggas the power of membership

Nigga, we everywhere

I’m everywhere rocking that cosmic debacle

108 the prophet, understand ergonomics

Of electric ultrasonic magnetic harmonic

Conscious balls of telepathic diagnostics (stupid)

That’s what my artistry’s about

While you run your mouth for clout

Or tryna turn Um out

I like them questioning “how?”

I hope they listen to learn astronomy, sociology and doubt

How Jesus could be god and not just arrogantly pronounced

As the truth, when the use of religion is a arroused

By consolidating power and giving it to the house

Because it doesn’t make sense

You know space is immense

And it was all meant for us

Is what Jesus presents

The Bible is a fairly tale

Contradicts itself everywhere

It takes an ass like dairy air

To think it’s really fairly clear

I’m sorry, I should stop, but nothing is

And the subject of the song is dumb ass shit

Jesus hates you

But it really doesn’t matter cuz

Jesus loves you

Jesus loves

But really doesn’t exist

I don’t do it to be mean, even shine or make you cry

It’s really a function of the perspective I entice

To say thinking and intelligence is nice and is desired

Is like saying dick and pussy is best when combined

Jesus hates you

But it really doesn’t matter cuz

Jesus loves you

Jesus loves

But really doesn’t exist

But to put it susincly Which is good to provide

Your like a bug attracted to light

Cuz Bees don’t spend their time Explaining to flys

Why honey is better than shit to survive

Jesus hates you

But it really doesn’t matter cuz

Jesus loves you

Jesus loves

But really doesn’t exist

________________________________________

The Cold

This me and Asia, they say I’m gifted

I like misdirection and to put it simplest

I don’t think for myself, so yes I’m Christian (often)

I run it like the church, inquisition

Whether winter or fall I love the cold

It reminds me of my blood and it’s oxygen threshold

When the light from your eyes goes dull and closed

Is when I’ll stop coming after your throat

And we don’t play that gangsta shit

All my moves I make legitimate

In broad daylight I have the sense

Everything you have figured, isn’t

I suggest if you don’t wanna catch a case

Show some discretion, respect, and grace

I ain’t hard, but I ain’t a bitch either

You may try the takeover and then find that I’m the ether

Is the atmosphere to ethereal like gravity

Or since it’s clear do we not see it mattering?

I wouldn’t bring me back unless your eager

To figure out why they fear the karma I teach her

Weather winter or fall I love the cold

It reminds me of my blood and it’s oxygen threshold

When the light from your eyes goes dull and closed

Is when I’ll stop coming after your throat

I Molotov mics in the night

With the energy to cause a street fight

Knuckle up baby, buckle up

It's dangerous on the ave

They flaming guns

Slanging crumbs

Hennessey and Jamison

The eyes of the jungle Blood shot

The disgruntled smirk of a crook

Posing for the pic, in his first mug shot

My seven and a half is working oh that's for certain

We in the lab cooking and jookin'

Until its closed curtains

I'm busting shots at the serpent for a purpose

The seven stars represent the seven churches

Watch what you worship

Don't miss the revelations

You'll be caught up like the listeners

Still caught up on my first shit

Assassin with the blade catch a niggas fade

It's a rapture on the stage when you capture these grenades

You'll be a fossil once

Once they really understand the gospel

El Chapo with chopped cheese and a taco

This me and Asia, they say I’m gifted

I like misdirection and to put it simplest

I don’t think for myself, so yes I’m Christian (often)

I run it like the church, inquisition

Weather winter or fall I love the cold

It reminds me of my blood and it’s oxygen threshold

When the light from your eyes goes dull and closed

Is when I’ll stop coming after your throat

Weather winter or fall I love the cold

It reminds me of my blood and it’s oxygen threshold

When the light from your eyes goes dull and closed

Is when I’ll stop coming after your throat

I suggest if you don’t wanna catch a case

Show some digression, respect, and grace

I ain’t hard, but I ain’t a bitch either

You may try the takeover and then find I’m the ether

What’s a mind to a god

Time to a thought

Price to some art

Or lies if you're smart?

What’s a mind to a god

Time to a thought

Price to some art

Or lies if you're smart?

Sooner or later I’m gonna figure you out

And all I’ve really found, is how cowards get down

How they bring um out bring um out bring um out bring um out

It’s hard to tell that you aren’t really a clown

I’m not tryna develop what you sell

I’m hear just to tell

You, you need to get help

I’m not tryna develop what you sell

I’m hear just to tell

You, you need to get help

Weather winter or fall I love the cold

It reminds me of my blood and it’s oxygen threshold

When the light from your eyes goes dull and closed

Is when I’ll stop coming after your throat

Weather winter or fall I love the cold

It reminds me of my blood and it’s oxygen threshold

When the light from your eyes goes dull and closed

Is when I’ll stop coming after your throat

______________________________________________

Independent

Always committed, every day I was wit it

Well recognized for the ways that I did it

Indepent player that’s how you get it

The people know whats happenin but they ain't gonna admit it

Always committed, every day I was wit it

Well recognized for the ways that I did it

Indepent player that’s how you get it

The people know whats happenin but they ain't gonna admit it

Been rhyming ten years

Still haven’t broke even

I do it for the love

Cuz it Damn sure ain’t the money

But give me some funding

And a beat that funky

And I’m Gonna pop off,

Guaranteed if you market me

You know what’s the difference between me and those puppets

About a hundred and fifty thousand dollar marketing budget

Having an audience is currency

That I don’t have currently

But I’ve invested in a catalog

And marketing um urgently

Need money to grow

And give um what they wanted

Need money for marketing

Just like any product

But I’m free, my own boss

Though I can barely pay the costs

I do what I want, I say what I please

They ain’t got no strings on me

I do what I want, I say what I please

They ain’t got no strings on me

Always committed, every day I was wit it

Well recognized for the ways that I did it

Indepent player that’s how you get it

The people know whats happenin but they ain't gonna admit it

Always committed, every day I was wit it

Well recognized for the ways that I did it

Indepent player that’s how you get it

The people know whats happenin but they ain't gonna admit it

I didn’t have a mentor

I started on my own

Everything I’ve done

I’ve had to do alone

300 dollars a month

Is my total budget

By the time it’s right

To promote there’s nothing

What a great community America has

Put in work every day but never paid for that

Which you made to get the bag

Americas so great that it’s people can’t

Afford necessities cuz they don’t get paid a living wage

How is the national debt doing today

All the money went to corporate pay

While you can’t afford a place to stay

Having money for food

It must be nice

Having money for goods

It must be nice

America The great

Where the people get raped

Of their financial stake

of what the community creates

Always committed, every day I was wit it

Well recognized for the ways that I did it

Indepent player that’s how you get it

The people know whats happenin but they ain't gonna admit it

Always committed, every day I was wit it

Well recognized for the ways that I did it

Indepent player that’s how you get it

The people know whats happenin but they ain't gonna admit it

_____________________________

Lace’em up

Let me rock it for a minute

I’m not a gimmick, yo I live it

Positive and different

Like an ace word to tennis

They on the lean sippin

I live the dream envision

Thinking as they listen

From start to finish

If you want me on stage with

Raps for your entertainment

I need that bag, and the payment

From fans demanding my graces

Until then it’s about branding and landing these placements

Finding some way to get paid and get

The love so it make me continue with it

Not wanna quit, and give’um this gift

I do it for the love, the fun and the win

Dabbin up a friend, bought what happened, what it is

This that classic flow with lyricism

Don’t kow tow, just listen

I’m here to help the mission

Unlock your inner vision

May not always agree

But I’m always for peace

Capeesh, I need you

To Keep it real with free speech

Lace’em up, lace’em up, lace em up, lace em

I’m just a man try’na create and make it

Be humble, burst your bubble while still being gracious

The music speaks for itself and felt as a statement

Lace’em up, lace’em up, lace em up, lace em

I’m just a man try’na create and make it

Be humble, burst your bubble while still being gracious

The music speaks for itself and felt as a statement

I’m that ill type, I kill mics

They’re all like, that was real right

It makes me feel like

A shooting star in the night

Glittering and glistening

On a path that righteous

Spread my name across the sky

Catch your eye, decide this

Music is a symphony

And it gets to me, and I write this

Hoping it goes gold

Like a touch from Midas

Don’t have to decipher

When I pop up in the Cypher

I’m a fighter that stifles

Don’t wanna make me your rival

Cuz I got stamina, and a brand that run

Edutainment for the audience

Since started up, I got the love

Harbored luck, and toughened up

It’s a cold, cold world even when it’s sunny

It’s about what you sold and only if it makes money

Most can’t make ends meet or afford to fill up their tummy

The rich claim it’s hard work when they really got lucky

I bubble up and double up

On the trouble, I’ll sum it up

If you want it, I can get it done

Til you get enough, and feel the love

Lace’em up, lace’em up, lace em up, lace em

I’m just a man try’na create and make it

Be humble, burst your bubble while still being gracious

The music speaks for itself and felt as a statement

Lace’em up, lace’em up, lace em up, lace em

I’m just a man try’na create and make it

Be humble, burst your bubble while still being gracious

The music speaks for itself and felt as a statement

I bought these beats

For my artistry

On standard lease

From Anno Domini

So If you like this rap, think it's dope like morphine

Buy the track, to show you support me

I bought these beats

For my artistry

On standard lease

From Anno Domini

So If you like this rap, think it's dope like morphine

Buy the track, to show you support me

Lace’em up, lace’em up, lace em up, lace em

I’m just a man try’na create and make it

Be humble, burst your bubble while still being gracious

The music speaks for itself and felt as a statement

Lace’em up, lace’em up, lace em up, lace em

I’m just a man try’na create and make it

Be humble, burst your bubble while still being gracious

The music speaks for itself and felt as a statement

#rapper #rap #hiphop #michigan #usa #hip hop #music #Spotify #Youtube

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