We labored and debated while you waited for sabbatical
Bound to rock your body as we turn the party radical
I can see the game like the blind feel the pain
Both sides colliding with the concrete and rain
The pacific northwest take the spotlight now
My people pump your fists like your Manny Pacquiao
Mad child with the wild style right to be hostile
Folks feelin like a rottwiler in a dog pound, forward
In this generation triumphantly
Even wack sound boy speakers couldn’t muffle me
Its up to me and Sabzi to bring back the quality beats to rock the audience
Between the politics, I seek the knowledge that your colleges lack
While we always used to come late and sit in the back and crack jokes
Instead of takin notes wrote this line after line afterschool hit play press rewind
Blue scholars in the place to be, we got one DJ and one MC
And that’s it, that’s it, that’s it
Come on put your hands up and continue this shit
Blue scholars in the place to be, we got one DJ and one MC
And that’s it, that’s it, that’s it
On the youth of the solstice I wrote this, focused on a singular purpose
To get rid of the curses, that afflict us, we live what you only see in pictures
The biggest hypocrites usually quote the most scriptures
But my approach is a diligent task
and rockin shows pro bono is a thing of the past
Dr king said freedom at last and some interpreted that
To mean we’ve come to the end of the path
But instead the long march hasn’t even begun, yall
Political power, manifest once the guns drawn
Right like shit will pop off with one song
Watch what I feed to my seed and keep my son strong
And on and on the anonymous work,
And a modest compensation’s all they ask in return
It’s the passion that burns within, lets begin
My philosophy to win, is callin me to spit this shit
Blue scholars in the place to be, we got one DJ and one MC
And that’s it, that’s it, that’s it
Come on put your hands up and continue this shit
Blue scholars in the place to be, we got one DJ and one MC
And that’s it, that’s it, that’s it
Microphone check, microphone check
I’m a blue scholar worker studying the art of labor to create
Flavor to relate to listeners, alleviate the danger associated with strangers
Isn’t it strange how we estrange ourselves from our neighbor?
Enables us through music to connect, releasing fluids in our neck
With the rhythmic forward movement of our heads and back again
Indeed as we succeed the pioneers
Maybe give back all that we’ve been taking through the years
I bleed, for what I believe to be the truth, nurturing the seed planted in the fertile youth
The poetry, hangin’ from the branches eat the fruit
Pluck the most succulent, and suck upon the juice
So what’s up with you, frequently they ask
Been hibernating writin’ till the last page cypherin’ the past days by
Bypassing the lies and the bullshit
Get up off the mic, and save it for the bull pit (pulpit?)
In the blue school, class is in session
Ask us a question, cause class is in session
(Repeat x4)
I’m an exile, motherland stepchild, metropolis dwellin’ middle Americas prisoner of war
Combat the paper till the blankness is gone
Listen now, talk about the beat after the song
Astronomical, cause that is just a modest measurement
Of my ability to represent my family correct because I be about it,
Ain’t no other way to say it
discovered my potential when I stayed late to tape it in the basement
with an ancient karaoke stereo in lieu of a studio, we made due with everythin’
layin around, and if I’m not mistaken isn’t that improvisation what hip-hop Is all about
if you poppin at the lip then I will sock you in the mouth
sonically to render you the opposite of loud
apology accepted in advance, I think its kinda cool at one point
that you thought you had a chance
In the blue school, class is in session
Ask us a question, cause class is in session
(Repeat x4)
a veteran’s fate written on pages of mixed tapes
I’m all about a government that citizens dictate
Sick of fuckin’ dealin’ with the presidents mistakes
To sit back and rant is just misplaced anger
So I cradle, pens, from now until the fable ends
Takin’ friends for granted, but now I’ve got to make amends
Callin out the big talk small walkin cowards
High above the ground yo we shakin down your tower
And demandin our money back, plus reimbursement
For parkin and shit, I put my heart in this shit
And all my arteries connect to the amplifier wire,
Music make the flames in my inner fire higher
I reinvent the language in the image of a dancer
Contorting where the floor becomes an answer
Blue school graduate dog, after this last verse
When the revolution comes we gonna shoot your ass first
In the blue school, class is in session
Ask us a question, cause class is in session
(Repeat x4)
..strapped for protection, whatever you do
whatever you say, step up front. Be good at what you do.
At least be good at something. Writing, reading, producing, DJing, umm, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, something. Learn an art, a trade, be somebody.
The blue is for the color of the collar of my mother
And my father plus the scholars that we be,
The blue is for the nighttime moon, swingin tune
Of every bluesman singin what its like to not be free
I want to be the conduit movin the music among the masses
Hit the spot rock upon sight like medusa as the true surpass the wicked
Used to sneak in shows without a ticket
till I slowly got familiar with the local promoters
hopin to blow, focused on the open mic
not claimin to be the dopest I just want to be noticed
to find producers in the circuit to work with,
for certain it was hurtin at first fuckin with studio virgins
to purge the wack, I download the upgraded version
now performin our percussions
constructed up by the Persian beatmaker extraordinaire
you talk about the journey but we’re takin it there
payin a fair, say it again said
the blue is for the color of the collar of my mother
and my father plus the scholars that we be
The blue is for the nighttime moon, swingin tune
Of every bluesman singin what its like to not be free
the blue is for the water and sky
in the middle of the fire I burn to find the light in the darkness
the blue is for the color of the bruise we use to be reminded
that the body isn’t made to be timeless
the blue is for the ocean we cross to foreign lands
where we work with our hands, and home is where we stand
where the poetry swims, in the lunacy of moonshine light
reflected right upon the surface of skin
verses burst out the pen, like it hurt not to be written
you immature amateur writers are copy kittens
in the coffeeshop kids are spitting individualistic
petty bourgie pseudo revolutionary ??bullshit??
??or miss this?? resistance is more than just a fist in a wristband
and incense, that won’t make you free, fuck a bachelors degree
I’d much rather defeat the evil thieves in my scenery
Seemingly detached, indeed as we proceed to see the heathen meet his match
And everything not givin up, we take it back
I bleed upon a track, my verse written in red
The blue is for the balance yes and everything I said, I said
the blue is for the color of the collar of my mother
and my father plus the scholars that we be
The blue is for the nighttime moon, swingin tune
Of every bluesman singin what its like to not be free
the blue is for the water and sky
in the middle of the fire I burn to find the light in the darkness
the blue is for the color of the bruise we use to be reminded
that the body isn’t made to be timeless
It’s been long years gone since we rocked the linoleum
Blastin the broken boom box open closin
And the most awkward b-boy stance you can imagin
Grab the mic tradin my backspin for rappin
Back when the sinners dance
Dancers were listeners
Answers to caller response chance ridiculous
Pants demanded saggin
Never bigger than our britches
But the britches burned, britches were scratche
Our sins were repented for
Much later, hey yo DJ blessed the crowd with the sign of the cross
In time we find things to refine, at the same time, the heart articulating rhyme
I think it’s amazing kids are waiting outside
Habitual leaders at the solidarity of this ritual see
Each invidual reach out, speak to teach the invisible how to be invincible
Motion Movement
Architects, blueprints
Showin’, groovin’
Teachers, students
Reachin’ for truth in a self-revolution
The roof is on fire, what’s your solution? (2x)
This be the sum, of love plus one
Mold breakin, soul searchin
My carriage is my feet (?) pointing hella deep like sea urchin
Indeed be certain
Proceed to test your reflex knee jerk
And hid it behind a curtain on the stage
Burnin inside with rage
Rewrote the script
With my voice inside of the page
I’ve decided the ways
Previously paved for me to walk
Will never see me, nor my footprints
I stalk in the nighttime
Avaying(?) our hands to the sky
Like the clock at midnight
Convinced of my demise
Concluded that the crowd throws their hands in the air
Because the sky is falling
No one else seems to care
or want a piece of the pie
Not a generous share
Can I possibly prove
My intentions are clear
I’m just a word in a rhyme
And a kick in the snare
Swimming inside of inkwells to find if my spirit is there
You can find me inside of a pen waiting to burst
Drowning in the reservoir quenching my thirst
My first love’s second home was my headphones
First time I wrote what I felt because I said so
Unless there’s any protest allow me to begin
The weather’s never deep enough to wash away my sins
So I drop it on the one
My tongue beating the drum
Beating meaning to the beat
Motion Movement
Architects, blueprints
Showin, groovin
Teachers, students
Reaching for truth in a self-revolution
The roof is on fire, what’s your solution?
(always writing, always revising)
Shorty feels the pressure on his shoulders as he’s liftin it
Wonders why the elders always tell him not to question it
Options at the bottom of the ladder got him desperate
But all he ever wanted was a weapon to protect him with
Riding a 36 through the veins of the beacon
The water is the heart, its rainin when its beatin
In the city that I sleep in I’m dreamin while I’m awake
The miserable escape and theyre too high to ponder faith
But who am I, to use their plight to illustrate a rhyme
With everything around me that I’ve never had to live
But I observe the inner qualities to serve the people properly
Tell them that their freedom isn’t found in private property
Prostitutes are more than just the folks who sell their bodies
See this shit applies to those whose souls are a commodity
I can hear the colony callin me back to be
The bullet in the belly while they lock, load, and squeeze
Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
They made a mockery out of the possibility
But under constant revision is the poem that I be
Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
I be the emcee in the place not to be
But under constant revision is the poem that I be
Shorty feels oppression on his shoulders as he’s liftin it
Wonders why the elders always tell him not to question it
Conjuring the courage just to conquer whats been killin him
He says its fucked up cause he knows no other synonym
Hidden from the truth, seen youths turned to troops
Whose goal at 21 is to turn 22, true tuition’s too high
and those with the privilige to pay don’t listen, it’s a shame, go figure, in
The name of the father, the son and holy lyrics
I suppose those who know what I’m sayin when they hear it
Might rage against the system, or hate me for dissin
The house in which they live in as a slave to the rhythm
But I walk the broken sidewalk paved with the magic
Of those who walk past it, just to survive traffic
If paybacks a bitch, then gravity’s a bastard
Avenues I used to call familiar turned backward
Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
They made a mockery out of the possibility
But under constant revision is the poem that I be
Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
I be the emcee in the place not to be
But under constant revision is the poem that I be
Yo.. shorty’s getting grown old enough to read the messages
Understands the elders as he then begins to question them
One generation handed down what they’ve inherited
Another generation rewriting the master narrative
Older folks overdose on broken hopes often
Children then begin to grow comatose and lost up
In the clutches of the wickedest fingers
Indicative of the systems inhibited
Ability to listen to the voice of the dyin who’ve been tired of cryin
Nightsticks fall where projectiles are flyin
Through a straight path narrow like the gap between heaven and hell
They skip class cause they know it’s a jail, true
Students prevail when the knowledge is passed
But others sent to fail sittin flat on their ass
And now I be the emcee in the place not be
Under constant revision is the poem that I be
Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
They made a mockery out of the possibility
But under constant revision is the poem that I be
I draw words out of pens like swords out of sheaves
Humidity intervene, now I’m high on God’s speed
Upon the mic, immobilizing globe trotting colonizers
Stomping on the rights of the poor,
The destitute I testify will rise in the matter of a lifetime
So climb into the mind through the scale over spine
When hips start slitherin to bass line sizzle
Make the wallflower blossom
Make me feel anonymous and conscious at the same time
I can’t remain calm waiting for repeats or a beat for the bomb to dro
So find us in a record shop with or without distribution
independent from the bullshit of a major
Remember Monday evening in the record stores at 12?
Midnight to cop the new album off the shel
We were savin up allowance or your minimum wage
For eight dollars, one tape man, you listen for days
I’m missin the days, freewheelin mean-muggin rivals,
For no good reaso
Just me an adolescent to breath in, believed in
So far believing that this paradise is hard to believe in
I’m leaving
To a place dominated by spray-painted dreams that ain’t what they seem
I’m leaving
To find myself clinging to the edge of a notebook page, writin for days
I’m leaving
YO I’m going home to atone for abandonin my native tongue grown
From the soil of my soul that I’ll toil till I’m old
Passin the torch like the mic that I hold
Plowin in the field allowin little time to rest
Fly by night daytime I’m chillin in my nest
Where memory is sending me
An astral projection to way back then
I’m chasin Roacqin through the speakers
Reachin for the makeshift microphone
Mark’ll make your mom bark “Turn down the radio,”
complainin about the cursewords
Times absurd, the lines got blurred, another kid got served
And the whole house party bore witness to the occasio
Thus started growing my early reputation
Early 90 second generation fat basses
Used to get hip bruises breakin in the basement
Mixed tape makin was an art that we’d forsaken
And the hardest thing to do was cue the tape
I’m waiting on a Sunday night listening to nastiness, payin the dues
When KEXP was KCMU, true, I’m missin the days
freewheelin mean-muggin rivals,
For no good reason
Just me an adolescent to breath it, believed it
So far believing that this paradise is hard to believe in
I’m leaving
To a place dominated by spray-painted dreams that ain’t what they seem
I’m leaving
To find myself clinging to the edge of a notebook page, writin for days
I’m leaving
YO I’m going home to atone for abandonin my native tongue grown
From the soil of my soul that I’ll toil till I’m old
Passin the torch like the mic that I hold
The horticulture’s in the pipe
So torch it with the light unfortunately
it’ll be gone, but not tonight (2x)
I’m leaving
To a place dominated by spray-painted dreams that ain’t what they seem
I’m leaving
To find myself clinging to the edge of a notebook page, writin for days
I’m leaving
YO I’m going home to atone for abandonin my native tongue grown
From the soil of my soul that I’ll toil till I’m old
Passin the torch like the mic that I hold
Yo, you ever go outside at night, look up into the sky, into the big, immense sky…and think to yourself that’s a big sky!
Like an inkwell…
In a city that’s been waiting to blow since big butts and team spirit
Many make music you can hear it, secluded in the upper left dominantly grey-shaded sky
Every other day, sorta like today
Just a little bit wetter And cold in the winter
Proximity to water make the soul a little gentler
Out of towners don’t be knowin about the best-kepts
Ain’t nothing better than the summer in the northwest
Microphone check 1-206
Through the smoke, who da smoke, can I get a quick fix
To lift this eye to the level of needle in the sky
Lookin over the sound against the shores of the suicide capital
Bust the magical dust, grammatically just (?) the satellite
What makes seattle tight?
The fruits of this ripe in spite of all the bull,
And last second changes of plans __________
And prodigal sons, whose motto is run whenever possible
Watch Mr officer shoot before he aims
And claims self-defense in the name of the citizenry
Spd’s spread the city like an STD
I’m rollin’ rainier bumpin bets carefree
While the people sleep, I must speak till they wake
Let me push my pen to create
Beat, seat rhymes and life
Each time I write the fire ignites
I light the sky
There’s an infinite inkwell high above the city
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody
They paved rock candy and put up a parking lot
It was a spot for them and it was hot
And then the cops lit it up when the thugs fisticuffs
Then the mayor was quick to up and pin it on hip hop
Shows got dropped for us in the block crush
What’s left of the scene, rose up from the dust
It must have been many times overfrustrated
To watch the downfall of those who could’ve made it live
Some waited for the next mixalot to blow
Others made moves said ‘shit we got to grow’ but
Time moves slow when the clock’s overweight
Meaning those who wait as opposed to create
But those who make bread and not break the mold
I was only 19 but my rhymes were bold
When the things got for real I got up in the fold
And put up into practice all that I was told
Wickedia came up and showed love
We called ourselves ‘Phase’ and ironically it was
Became the last kid still writing at 9-5
B-town ciphers with tale and justify
Moved to the city started posing as a journalist
To get press passes and prove instead
Put down the pen, picked up the mic
Came in for competitor’s heads
And when I got down severin several losin
Started getting down with hella producers
They welcomed me into the big house
But they didn’t feel the city so they moved back south
And other dudes weren’t even worth it to work with
And if I see wonders about to believe a word of it
You get two double zero one
The trouble just begun to bear fruit
At the end of a troubling youth, Sabzi got me to speak over beats
Like the key to unlock me, and I’ll be damned
Ten years the summer I began I’m still up in the lab
Other people sleep I must speak til they wake
Now let me push this pen to create
While the people sleep I must speak til they wake
Now let me push this pen to create
A Beat’s, rhymes and life
Each time I write the fire ignites
I light the sky
There’s an infinite inkwell high above the city
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody (repeat)
I offer nothing but the uncertain promise
That I’ll honestly pursue the crooked path of the conscious
Not just another body in the battle for the soul
Never sold self for its weight in platinum and gold but
Man we’re getting grown
Wisdom got us thinking in the interest of our children
even if they ain’t been given their flesh
Their bones
Their homes or their names yet
I’m aiming for the change in my pocket for the payback
The change augmented by the government to nothing
The change of a whirlwind unraveling the coming of that next shit
I can’t wait for when it comes, shit
It better be worth the shit that I paid most my life with
It’s nice when it rains sometime
Cleansing minds in my habitat
Imagine that I’m digging to find
What was hidden by the myth of a god up in the sky
Knowing that She meant for me to rhyme
So I
Give thanks to the most, the least that I can do
I wear this skin to find the me inside of you
When I dream that I’m dreaming I feel most alive
Sacrifice nights
Write to survive
Proper hand gestures conjure ancestors
Drinking from the bottle that was meant
For the message that was sent from the tired and the true
I give thanks to the most, the least that I can do
Way back I used to call upon the Father often
I fought the devil last night and almost lost –
Now I’m drinking bottled water
Flushing out the toxins
Vomiting and coughing feeling closer to the coffin
Than I ever had
Every morning that I arrive
Is a night that I survive
Just to be alive – sipping chai
Listening to my favorite DJ
Communicate the music, what my rhymes would say
If they were written
With a needle
To the groove
Of a paper
Stylus to papyrus, record to the player
It’s more than just therapy or excessive energy
I undo the mechanism meant to imprison me
Spiritually
The view from up is not enough
I dwell below to find the god that I rebuff
Redesigned, redefined what it meant to be divine
Knowing that She meant for me to rhyme
So I Give thanks to the most, the least that I can do
I wear this skin to find the me inside of you
When I dream that I’m dreaming I feel most alive
Sacrifice nights, Write to survive
Proper hand gestures conjure ancestors
Drinking from the bottle that was meant
For the message that was sent from the tired and the true
I give thanks to the most, the least that I can do
Our Father
my art is Heaven, hallowed be
The drums beating me and my tongue into submission
I can hardly speak breathing this indelible high
From an endless supply of Godspeed, and I need
A brand new prayer to read
Seems the old ones grew tons of mold cuz they’re narrow as hell
Sometimes they be thinking that this heavens for sale
Worse than that, they still think God is a male
But
Moms used to hang up pictures of white Jesus
Fist clutching rosary beads, over the years
I began to question this Father Almighty
Made in His image but don’t look nothing like me
But we be the children of the most high
Ghosts of the colonized lost in the time
Redesign, redefine what it meant to be divine
Knowing that She meant for me to rhyme
I taste the evening and breath in the crisp pacific northwest air
As it’s leavin my lips crack the bits
This visual kiss, the Puget Sound
And the bluest of skies
Two sides of the abyss
This city was built on the backs of the brave who gave up their home for a dollar a day
The same folks who rose up to ban the minimum wage
Unofficial slaves not given a page, a photograph or a paragraph written to claim them
Some got the nerve to say go back to where you came from
Same ones who Stole the land from chief sealth and then named the city after him
as if to say we honor you
Right after we conquered you and pillaged your home
Soil fertilized with indigenous bones
Jimi Hendrix, ray charles and quincy jones
Japanese jazz now hip hop in home
That’s seventh and Jackson the microphone’s open
Subvert a culture genocide seven years goin’ in the moment and the music
Time to show improvement
Never will you see me be a Judas to the movement
Used to be a student of the beat until I mastered it
And then I set it free to let it be the energy
That I command when I spit, in this shit heard out of mangled tight lipss
I like sister with hips, I like sisters with hope even better than those who blow spirit through the smoke out my mouth and my nose
I pose questions like ‘at night’
Or the moon is too bright
These dudes with tight shirts and spiked hair
Hit up the late night Chinese joint with bad fare
Fresh off the club, One stumblin drunk
Ain’t worth my time just to mumble ‘punk’
He be acting like a chump but he still my brown brother
Sister by your side dyed hair with fake eyes
Probably wonders why she attracts the fake guys
I sigh under south side night skies
My people, young brown and gifted conversely,
The people I belong to
believe me it hurts me to use the same fist that I raise against the system
to cock back and hit em
Getting all caught up in the movement and the music
Time to sure improve it
Never will you see me be a Judas to the movement
Used to be a student of the beat until I mastered it
And then I set it free to let it be the energy
That I command when I spit, in this sh-- heard out of mangled tight lips
I like sisters with hips, I like sisters with hopes even better than those who blow spirit through the smoke out my mouth and my nose
And then I breath out my mouth and my nose
And then I breath out my mouth and my nose
And then I breath
With war rising over the horizon
It’s hard to start writing
Been fightin in the belly of the titan, my tourniquets tighten around the livin’ but dyin’
My pen floods the pages while the children are crying
I want to put on an iron shirt, chase the devil out of earth
Spit until my tongue and saliva glands burst
But first I invoke the spirit of the long gone and coming back through the song
I am one with that all-seein’ being but
It seems as if we’re being tricked into believing that which we think we believe in
Even if we disagree on who the best mc is,
We bob to the beat as if we’re nodding in agreement
I write to freedom, though freedom hasn’t come
I let it ring to leave a message on my answering machine
I see a movement has begun
As soon as we become the true truth seekers
Down with this Babylon regime
To think you can die in the blink of an eye
I bid you to try, to test I & I (?)
Been destined to fly But I’m restin tonight
And one bright morning I will take flight
But until then, I’ll be rockin on the m
I see the future drippin out of a pen
If sleep be the cousin of death
Then every time I blink’s one step closer to my last breath
It’s said talk is cheap, but war is expensive
I speak cuz it’s free and these words are my weapons
Don’t think for a second I will not question US foreign policy, imperial aggression inventing war for he quenching of the thirst for the oil
Cuz money don’t trickle down to workers who toil, you see
Blood trickle down from the wounds of the soil
And broken antennas with aluminum foil
Standing on televisions, transmitting propaganda of millionaire senators
And your so-called commander in chief, b, I’m telling you the man is a thief,
In his head he holds a plan to ban your freedom of speech,
To build a pipeline, put Afghanistan on a leash
When it bites back blame the Taliban for the breach
Of security in each and every first world country
Where life more dissin’ If you’re thirsty or hungry
To think you can die in the blink of an eye
I bid you to try, to test I & I (?)
Been destined to fly But I’m restin tonight
And one bright morning I will take flight
But until then, I’ll be rockin on the m
I see the future drippin out of a pen
If sleep be the cousin of death
Then every time I blink’s one step closer to my last breath
America romanticizes the old war story
Heroes, ammos, guns, blood guts and glory
And no wonder the majority wants a war with Iraq
Even if only 15% know where it’s at on a map
With our backs against a stockpile of weaponry
Enough to turn the earth into a memory, ‘cept there’ll be
No one to remember this planet
If it happens god damn it, if I get drafted today
I swear to God, Ja, Allah and Yahweh
I’ll toss the letter away and I’ll pull a Cassius Clay, In the military
Minorities comprise the majority, Surprised? are you kidding me?
The lies rely on brown bodies to fight for white puppet masters
I cannot fathom how the caged bird drinks
Until he thinks he is free
A critical mass between the heavenly future, and a hell of a past, now
To think you can die in the blink of an eye
I bid you to try, to test I & I (?)
Been destined to fly But I’m restin tonight
And one bright morning I will take flight
But until then, I’ll be rockin on the m
I see the future drippin out of a pen
If sleep be the cousin of death
Then every time I blink’s one step closer to my last breath
Sister sits on the steps
Cigarette rests on fingertips
Takes a sip of slow death deftly through her lips,
She blows a kiss
Which I can only resist in vain
She got the gift of gravity pulling to ask her name
She says Sagaba
What’s it mean – she says in Ilocano
it translates into suffering
I’m pondering the irony to conjure up the fearlessness to find a conversation
She offers me a square, I decline the invitation
It reminds me of the days when I would chain smoke
Broken with no hope
Like broken like the manner she spoke
We both
Two people seeking
Solace and remembrance
And wondering if miracles were meant for us
But intent was just an innocent thought between a sister and a brother
Who been building in the guidance of a mother
And the storyteller stops
Waiting for the beat to drop
Gathering his thoughts in the wind, breathing in like…
Now
I couldn’t stand to see the queen breathe her dreams away
And tell me her tomorrow will never become today
I say I used to know a woman just like you,
Beautiful but jaded by the multitude of men who’d often try to
Justify their lies with twisted notions of survival
And hide behind their armor when karma completes a cycle
She replied
That just because I knew a woman well it doesn’t mean I know them all
She begins to feign farewell
Eyes up to the sky, she sighs, I need nobody
True indeed, sister, but you still need everybody because
We hardly know ourselves if we know nobody else
And only in our loneliness can home become a hell
Exhale
The cloud in the loudest form of silence
Watches as it rises like suns over horizons
The storyteller stops
Waiting for the beat to drop
Gathering his thoughts in the cloud, breathing out like…
Dreams be the ashes
Burns and thrashing in the wind
Flying out the burning bush attached to sister’s hand
Who whispers “word”
Smiling and giving thanks, living in doubt no longer
As she figures out the riddle to the song
Saying why must we suffer now and not suffer later if later
Never comes soon enough to soothe the hatred
And hatred
Is the cancer born out of love’s absence
And the absence is the void left from missing every chance to
Challenge our fates and perhaps our very names
Sister says peace and prays for rain and change
Tosses out her lighter
Walks out of the cipher
For shizzle it starts to drizzle and then I begin to write this
Inhale the imagery – a queen walking steadily
Effortlessly
Ready to be
Every woman and now the
Story teller ends
Waiting for the beat to fade
Gathering his thought near the edge of the day like…
I be a patient man, waiting for the rain to come down
My feet touch the ground, but my head’s in the clouds
I be Prometheus Brown, stealing the fire outta heaven
The setting is several city blocks off the seventy-one stop
I walk around the district, distracted by the decadent madness of
All the undergrads and addicts
Club rats, heads, space cadets, crackmatics (?)
One of the few places that they coexist on the planet
Whatever happened to the avenue before the summer of 2002
Lounging with Coo on 42nd
My how time flies when we’re waiting for the chari,
Eating vegan sandwiches but can’t undersubtract our sobriety
Pondering society itself, he’s eying me like I ain’t gonna bring it to his health
He don’t want it, cuz certainly he knows
he’s just another sucker without his fraternity brothers to back him up
Campus parkway, up to 41st, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, and up to 47th
To the edge of the bubble all the way to(?), saying
F--- class, get your education on the ave!
Campus parkway, up to 41st, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, and up to 47th
To the edge of the bubble all the way to (?), saying
F--- class, get your education on the ave!
I be a patient man, waiting and checking for the sound
of potential break records up the second time around
In fact, we made this track from a sample we jacked,
from some vinyl we dug up out of the crates on the ave
Rats escape the lab infestations in all
There be cracks on the sidewalk made from the fall
A nazi dreadlock (?) strumming on his broken guitar
Singing Bobby Lanfau (?) outside of the bookstore
I purchased a journal in which the verses I recite, reside
I write vividly to capture the vibe,
I’m like hey kid, walk straight, master your high
If you listen you can hear the eye of the city cry
The sound is often drowned by Hollywood scholars
Intoxicated so save it for the coffee shop philosophers
The so-called artists, the poets and the prophets
Scenery is changin’, ain’t nobody can stop it
Campus parkway, up to 41st, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, and up to 47th
To the edge of the bubble all the way to (?), saying
F--- class, get your education on the ave!
Campus parkway, up to 41st, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, and up to 47th
To the edge of the bubble all the way to (?), saying
F--- class, get your education on the ave!
Walking to the 71, to the 72 downtown…
I like… making you so happy!
Yo, life and debt, light a cigarette smoke the stress,
take a deep breath baby, let’s rearrange the mess we’ve inherited
Alienated from what is rightfully yours in my land
is life, money is time paid for labor
Working eight to five, sometimes six seven eight
we come home and barely know the neighbors
Bills are usually late
Interest accumulates at a usury rate
Collection agency waits from
Pay check to next one, budget like a noose
Working while we sing the proletariat blues
On 501-C3 community plantations,
non profit sector propped up to kill the movement for the changes in production relations
But woman you’re my comrade, ride and die, revolution-making mother earth
standing with me in the grocery line
While I’m paying with a jar of pennies, nickels and dimes
And I love how you don’t like art without a message
I love how you call some fellas …femme-ish (?)
Third world sister, never sacrificing substance for style
But stylish with a golden type smile
I love how you organize with other strong sisters
Love how you talk about tearing down the system
Like a soldier, my dialectical reflection, yes is the answer to your question
Life and debt, write another check to the landlord,
no time to dwell on all the things we can’t afford
gotta baby in the womb, a soldier for the future that we’re fighting for
concrete conditions that are fighting for (?)
the payback, it’s way past due
and they say that the masses ain’t ready but
We know that ain’t true, you and I both children of Filipino immigrants from the same island, our ancestors smiling,
Cuz we found one another in a strange land struggling
Moms tryin’ to tell us not to protest instead pray for peace,
But that ain’t the nature of the beast
So lady grab a bullhorn and take it to the streets
Yellin power to the people, el pueblo unido, hamas and abansito
Til the wealth is spread equal
You 21st century Gabriela Salaw
Pierced like Lorena with a rifle in the arm
And I love how you love the people as much as self
I love that how you want redistribution of the wealth
Third world sister, never sacrificing substance for style
But stylish with a golden type smile
I love that how you organize with other strong sisters
Love that how you talk about tearing down the system
Like a soldier, my dialectical reflection, yes is the answer to your question
Life and debt
I like…making you so happy! I like…making you so happy! I like…making you so happy!
Cuz making you so happy makes me happy too!
There’s no rest for the weary, just another day grinding up stones
Till they turn into dust it’s tough times in the rough
Time it ain’t enough to cover up
A corrupted and fucked up legacy of strange food, bloody whips and small pox,
trigger happy cops, barbed wire and fire water ya’ll don’t stop
When the colonizer came with the cross and the sword,
I’d be the first there that said “I declare war”
I’m a battle scar wearin’ and reparin’
The sentence come along with the age of proletariat (?)
So check the work ethic in the name
The lessons might change, but the essence of the message is the same
So when they say anything, say “why is it?”
Class is in session til the teacher gets a pink slip
I ride the rhythm and buy the little whine talk
Head hit the concrete in line with your spine
I speak to find peace, but it’s war all the time
It’s deep like the drive from renton to shoreline
I’m a more mindful guy ever since finding out that
I’m about to be a father, and doubt is not an option
And now I can’t be getting’ crunkifated as often (?)
So get your hands dirty cuz your prints are great enough boss (?)
What cross?
We got crucified by buckshot
One million Jesus’s and Judas got his nuts off
Pages, turn out the memory of those who remain
Shackled with the chains of international capital gain
They claim civilized, but they animal ways
Peace to Oakland
I’ve never been a fan of the A’s
But some days you can find me inscribing my soul on the page
Every crime has an alibi
Discipline and organize is how I handle my
Jack suspending mad time only that’ll rhyme
I can’t knock it if you find it entertaining
I rep those whose labor ain’t compensated
So check the work ethic in the name
The lessons might change, but the essence of the message is the same
So when they say anything, say “why is it?”
Class is in session til the teacher gets a pink slip
Forty to a class, no wonder we’re delinquent
Half the school district never make it to commencement
I been the spine of the track until it snapped
Pops working overtime and he got a broken back
Got three little sisters, one brother in iraq
And ma prays to Venice (?) to keep the fam intact
But the song ain’t a psalm waiting for God to answer
Brothers call me dog, they got the letters backward
I’m back with a plan of attack
To repossess my name, face and history, ya’ll
One test my capacity to spit caliber shit
Into a rhythmic lesson and (?) it’s a legitimate weapon
Igniting the cipher session I’m deciphering life,
and blending both theory and into practice
I write vernacular, in actually fact, God, no posturin’
A thousand pointing fingers I defied every one of them
I ride for my brother and he carry the burden,
of a future uncertain til the fall of the curtain
You better move, hold your head high, soldier, it ain’t over yet
That’s why we call it a struggle, you’re supposed to sweat
So check the work ethic in the name
The lessons might change, but the essence of the message is the same
So when they say anything, say “why is it?”
Class is in session til the teacher gets a pink slip
Crazy landlady tried to switch up on the lease
If she raises up the rent again it’s time to say peace
Peace, peace, and that’s my piece
It’s still all about the woman in the belly of the beast
From the east, my brother, we came
The lessons might change, but the essence of the message is the same
So when they say anything, say “why is it?”
Class is in session til the teacher gets a pink slip
So keep marching till your feet split open
No rest for the weary, blue scholars keep goin’
We’re going to talk about war, cuz war is a matter that you can relate to, know what I’m sayin’? Cuz that’s what the whole message about everything that we rhyme…it’s what we try to connect.
