Welcome

(Contact Info: larry at larryblakeley.com)

Important Note: You will need to click this icon to download the free needed to view most of the images on this Web site - just a couple of clicks and you're "good to go." For reasons why - go here.

A listing and access link to all:
song lyrics and mp3 audio files http://www.royblakeley.name/larry_blakeley/songs/ (all of which are a part of this Web site) can be accessed simply by selecting the "htm" file for the song you want;

poetry http://www.royblakeley.name/larry_blakeley/poetry.htm;

quotations http://www.royblakeley.name/larry_blakeley/quotations.htm; and

essays written by Larry Blakeley http://www.royblakeley.name/larry_blakeley/articles/articles_larry_blakeley.htm,

all of which are used to tell the story in this Web site, can be accessed by going to each respective link set out above.

My son, Larry Blakeley http://www.royblakeley.name/larry_blakeley/larryblakeley_photos_jpeg.htm manages this Web site and the following Web sites:

Larry Blakeley (Contact Info: larry at larryblakeley.com)

Leslie (Blakeley) Adkins - my granddaughter

Lori Ann Blakeley (June 20, 1985 - May 4, 2005) - my granddaughter

Evan Blakeley- my grandson

Major Roy James Blakeley (December 10, 1928 - July 22, 1965) - USAF (KIA)

When I was young my dad would say
Come on son let's go out and play

No matter how hard I try
No matter how many tears I cry
No matter how many years go by
I still can't say goodbye

- "I Still Can't Say Goodbye," Performer: Chet Atkins

MP3 audio file/lyrics http://www.royblakeley.name/larry_blakeley/songs/still_cant_say_goodbye.htm

For a larger image click on the photograph.

What up, Blood? (What)
What up, Cuz? (What)
What up, Blood? (What)
What up, Gangstaaa?

They say I walk around like got an "S" on my chest
Naw, that's a semi-auto, and a vest on my chest
I try not to say nothing, the DA might want to play in court
But I'll hunt or duck a nigga down like it's sport
Front on me, I'll cut ya, gun-butt ya or bump ya
You getting money? I can't none with ya then fuck ya
I'm not the type to get knocked for D.W.I.
I'm the type that'll kill your connect when the coke price rise
Gangstas, they bump my shit then they know me
I grew up around some niggas that's not my homies
Hundred G's I stash it (what), the mack I blast it (yeah)
D's come we dump the diesel and battery acid
This flow's been mastered, the ice I flash it
Chokes me, I'll have your mama picking out your casket, bastard
I'm on the next level, right lane forget bezzle
Benz pedal to the metal, hotter than a tea kettle, god (what)

What up, Blood?

We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around

I sit back, twist the best bud, burn and wonder
When gangstas bump my shit, can they hear my hunger?
When the 5th kick, duck quick, it sounds like thunder
In December I'll make your block feel like summer
The rap critics say I can rhyme, the fiends say my dope is a nine
Every chick I fuck with is a dime
I'm like Patty LaBelle, homie, I'm on my own
Where I lay my hat is my home, I'm a rolling stone
Cross my path I'll crush ya, thinking I won't touch ya
I'll have your ass using a wheelchair, cane, or crutches
Industry hoe fuckers, in the hood they love us
Stomp a bone out your ass with some brand new chuckas

- "What Up Gansta," Lyrics - Music: Jackson and Tewlow

http://www.loglar.com/song.php?id=15056