| Nigga, you betta drink half a gallon of
|
| Shaolin before you pluck the strings of my
|
| Violin, my life is orchestrated, like
|
| London symphony, concentrated. |
| Niggas waited
|
| And waited. |
| I’m birthday wistles, belated
|
| Blow out the candles, I wait in the
|
| Darkness, like a vandal. |
| the silloutte
|
| Of set in this mirror on the mantle
|
| Fire place is in the heart. |
| water
|
| Places the art 'round the island of
|
| Desiring wheremost primitives stalk
|
| Sacrificing their daughters, but these
|
| Primordial waters carry a feminine
|
| Agenda that no man ever taught us
|
| True they captured and caught us
|
| Transported, sold us, and bought us. |
| they
|
| Constituted and lawed us, distorted truths
|
| That they taught us. |
| we rebelled, then
|
| Fought us. |
| we conformed, then
|
| They formed us. |
| Now you niggas rhyme
|
| 'bout material possessions. |
| My adidas are
|
| Three years old, like my daughter, niggas
|
| Rhyme 'bout alize and need to rhyme about
|
| Water. |
| but out of chaos comes order
|
| Out of chaos comes order out of chaos comes
|
| Order… Fake niggas run for the border
|
| LA LA LA LA LA LALA LA LALA LA LA
|
| LA LA LA LA
|
| In a past life I was a woodcarver’s knife
|
| The sharpened blade of a woodcutter
|
| The eldest son of the chief’s brother:
|
| Maker of drums. |
| we scraped the
|
| Inside of goat hides to seek the hollows
|
| Where sound resides, offering the parts
|
| We did not use to invoke the muse
|
| Music of the ghettos, the cosmos
|
| The negroes, the necros: overcomers
|
| Of death, disciples of breath. |
| dissection
|
| Of drumbeats like Osirus by Seth
|
| Breakbeats into fourteen pieces
|
| Dissemble chaos, organize noise
|
| A patchwork of heartbeats to ressurect
|
| True b-boys. |
| be men let’s mend
|
| The broken heart of Isis. |
| age of
|
| Aquarius. |
| mother nature is furious
|
| While you rhyme about being hardcore be
|
| Heartcore. |
| what is it that we do art for?
|
| Metaphor. |
| Medicine. |
| it’s an age of
|
| Healing. |
| why not rhyme about what you’re
|
| Feeling? |
| or not be felt. |
| deal w/ the cards
|
| You’re dealt. |
| calling tarot readers and
|
| Sparrow feeders to cancel the
|
| Apocalypse… metaphorically speaking
|
| (meta: greek for beyond) |