i wake up sweaty in my Puma track pants
dreams leave slow
like boppers with they tight jeans and head bands,
no ice or fake gold – ants on the neck
Verdi and a miller lite for breakfast -
shower, leave behind my broken bed
tile and torta i’ll be fed,
trumpet on the lawn and few broken bones,
my haircut spark revolutions -
knife swallowin never been my occupation,
we been smokin free cigarettes for years
on point like Ranitas got the coldest beers,
face slightly wet from the sunshine
steam escape the body like it’s scared of rising crime,
the lookouts on Columbia every day and night,
kids with gray hoodies
crack heads, and dirty mattresses -
is most of what i see on the street,
plus the hipsters
and we got food like Mexico City…

east dallas east east dallas

“where we live and breath”
east dallas east east dallas

“love the east side of my city”

the heat doesn’t stop when the sun sets,
gun clap car jack laid out, break bread -
head to Fallout for the girls in the spandex,
sweaty dancin babies and they drunk as they can get,
where bartenders djs and beatmakers live
and apartment complexes are infamous
mopeds – vietnam pool hall – dollar bins
Italian gems – Pollo for the fried chicken,
bad drivers,
no mirrors,
leapord print
budget pimps -
drunk breath
buy a cheap car
and get your palm read,
for every vice a virtue
Virgin statues
to the mansions on Swiss avenue,
hot sauce cocaine run upon the pavement
no shoes
and we’re all aparently cavemen,
known to have a lot of fun
mariachi bands
mixt girls
and gettin drop down dumb
for entertainment…

east dallas

What makes this a typical East Dallas post is that she looked cracked out, with her burnt blonde hair and oh-so-fashionable ratty jean shorts….and the man controlling the motorbike was for all accounts and purposes, Mexican.

I don’t know if the bike was a Harley, cause the only thing I know about motorcycles is watch out when it’s your birthday and you end up in an after-hours biker bar. I stayed until after 9am that day, AND cleaned porn out of the bathroom. (Also in East Dallas, so it’s totally relevant).

The Starbucks on Gaston and Haskell is the worst in the world.
Never go there.
They can’t make a drink for shit.
This is a real life picture of it found on the internet:

Fishr: When’t the last time you saw a Mexican play some Eritrean music?
Reflect: Beautiful

It’s great seeing thugged out dudes dancing to some wild ass gorgeous African music…still trying to act hard while we’re up here buggin the fuck out like on some old “Tame the Jaguar spirit”
And Eritrean women are FIIIIIINE.

FIIIIIIIIIIINE!!!!!!!!
No really, for real it’s like crazy how banging these broads is.

Reflect: You know them songs are like 18 minutes long, man. They need a rest.

Prompting the thought, “Bahlna music is that shit”
Next up, this dude:

they weren’t feeling him – but THIS GUY is killing it right now at 10 to 2am:
Meshesh is that dude

BOOM SON!!!!! http://www.bahlnaproductions.com/

Fishr: I’m gonna watch The Lion King tonight.

Shout out the long torso Eritrean bitches from Canada.
For real, ya’ll.
These first generation mu’fuckas is NO JOKE!!!
Dudes be lookin like Middle Eastern slash African but the chicks is retarded dope…

Today me and DJ Fishr Pryce pulled up next to a vampire pimp – decked to the nines.
Dead and long fake hair, inches of makeup, great sunglasses, and dressed like your everyday mid-17th century upscale pimp – not these budget mu’fuckas we be getting round here most of the time.

Holla if you’ve ever been slapped by a light skinned black dude vampire pimp.

Reflect: Yo you gotta pull up man, I can’t be beside this guy.
Fishr: YO!!!
Laughter, and we pull up a car length…
Fishr: That guy could slap you from here.
Reflect: Such a pimp.
Fishr: He could slap you from his car to here, and the money in your wallet would be gone afterwards.

We wish we could share a photo of this marvelous, dangerous creature – but we tried and the photo came out like this: