From red-dawn.net:

Twas the night before execution
And right on Death Row
Little Tookie had insomnia
He knew he was next to go.

"I'm innocent! I swear!"
Was Tookie's recurrent claim
(100% of inmates polled said the same).
He'd just about finished taking his evening crap

After which he'd lie down for his last voluntary nap.
Then out in the courtyard he heard quite a roar
He sprang from his seatless toilet to try and learn more
As he gazed out his barred window he saw quite a scene

A gathering of stars like he'd never seen.
Cameras and microphones, oh what a sight!
By the looks of the crowd it could have been Oscar night!
There was Dreyfuss and Danson, Mike Farrell looked snazzy.
(All right maybe not "Oscar", but at very least "Razzie")

"Free Tookie!" they cried.
"He's a convicted killer!" Arnold shot back.
"Yeah... well... that's not his fault.
He was born poor and black."

They protested quite fiercely as elitists can
When defending a murderer (his victims be damned).
But Arnold held firm and gave the thumbs down
The Hollywooders finally left with a collective frown.

Tookie stepped back from the window, resignation in his eyes
And thought-"Damn. A little more time I'd have nabbed the Nobel Peace Prize!"
There is one bright spot for Tookie as he nears his end of days
His t-shirt is finally outselling Che's.

Dude thats funny!

Thanks for the post!

Quoted: From red-dawn.net: Twas the night before execution And right on Death Row Little Tookie had insomnia He knew he was next to go. "I'm innocent! I swear!" Was Tookie's recurrent claim (100% of inmates polled said the same). He'd just about finished taking his evening crap After which he'd lie down for his last voluntary nap. Then out in the courtyard he heard quite a roar He sprang from his seatless toilet to try and learn more As he gazed out his barred window he saw quite a scene A gathering of stars like he'd never seen. Cameras and microphones, oh what a sight! By the looks of the crowd it could have been Oscar night! There was Dreyfuss and Danson, Mike Farrell looked snazzy. (All right maybe not "Oscar", but at very least "Razzie") "Free Tookie!" they cried. "He's a convicted killer!" Arnold shot back. "Yeah... well... that's not his fault. He was born poor and black." They protested quite fiercely as elitists can When defending a murderer (his victims be damned). But Arnold held firm and gave the thumbs down The Hollywooders finally left with a collective frown. Tookie stepped back from the window, resignation in his eyes And thought-"Damn. A little more time I'd have nabbed the Nobel Peace Prize!" There is one bright spot for Tookie as he nears his end of days His t-shirt is finally outselling Che's.

Interesting.

I'm afraid though that he will be (cough cough) "checking out"(cough cough) tomorrow.  

Bravo!

Copied, pasted, emailed!

Damn that's a good one. Thanks.

the bad thing about this mans death is that it happens at 12:01 am cali time... thats 2 am central...  

You reap what you sow...
Too bad Pookie, time to pay the piper.


BTW is there a crip smiley??

Tookie's Saga with apologies to Dr. Seuss

Can you do it by the book
Or would you rather be a crook?
Can your friends form a gang,
do drive-by shootings that go bang-bang?
Has the police got you down,
on the hard hard concrete ground?
Can your friends make your bail?
while you're rotting in the jail.
Are you willing to do the mile,
now it's time to go to trial?
After the jury says bye-bye,
Can you look them in the eye?
Can you see the light of day?
After the "man" puts you away?
In the pen do you send mail,
and ask for help when your appeal fails?
Do you think life went well,
when your soul rots in hell?

by me.

great poems

'Twas the night of the needle and in the Big House
Big Willie Johnson curled up with his spouse.
The lights were turned down and the screw had walked past.
Big Willie was pounding Red Jones in the ass.
As he showed Red his "O" face, there arose such a clatter
that Willie pulled out to see what was the matter.
He crept to the door, put his hand to his ear;
tapped into the grapevine to see what he'd hear.
In grumbles and whispers the news swept the floor:
"They've waked him and cuffed him and opened the door!
They hobbled his feet and offered a priest
and let him consume his very last feast!
They've patted him down for weapons and files -
and now . . . Tookie's walking the very last mile!"
Big Willie looked grim, as a hardened con can.
He stroked his smooth chin and he petted his man.
"You seem sad my darling. What's wrong?" queried Red.
"Tookie's off to the gurney, and soon he'll be dead."
"Is that bad?" asked the butt-boy, "Is it bad? Well?"
"Nah. He murdered four people. He can go straight to Hell."

About 5 years from now, some anthropologist (or apologist) will read these poems and write a PhD dissertation on the positive impact on Tookie in renewing the common man's interest in poetry.  

Quoted: 'Twas the night of the needle and in the Big House Big Willie Johnson curled up with his spouse. The lights were turned down and the screw had walked past. Big Willie was pounding Red Jones in the ass. As he showed Red his "O" face, there arose such a clatter that Willie pulled out to see what was the matter. He crept to the door, put his hand to his ear; tapped into the grapevine to see what he'd hear. In grumbles and whispers the news swept the floor: "They've waked him and cuffed him and opened the door! They hobbled his feet and offered a priest and let him consume his very last feast! They've patted him down for weapons and files - and now . . . Tookie's walking the very last mile!" Big Willie looked grim, as a hardened con can. He stroked his smooth chin and he petted his man. "You seem sad my darling. What's wrong?" queried Red. "Tookie's off to the gurney, and soon he'll be dead." "Is that bad?" asked the butt-boy, "Is it bad? Well?" "Nah. He murdered four people. He can go straight to Hell."

nobel nominee right there.

Oh my God, I've got tears running down my face I am laughing so hard.

Thanks guys, I needed that.

Let's see;

Shotgun blast or put to sleep like a faithful old dog...?

There is still no justice here. His body should be dragged through the streets of Crip Central where ever that may be...

dark and lonely, winter night
Kill my tookie, kill my tookie.....



You know the rest.

C I L L my tookie


(a play on eddie murphys "tyrone green" poem titled Images. Not in any way racist. Or against coc hopefully - with all the banning going on around here)

I thought you would like it

FREE