PT.1
Old poets an / Writers, like yogis now
much respect.
but, yogis aint what we need.
never popped that lock
or loaded that glock.
Read an Write Just enough to get people Heated,
Reminding us how we got stepped on an defeated
Daily .......
a checks in the mail for ya essays.
But, Yogis, aint what we need!
for years poets didn’t rhyme,
guess it was the sign of the times…
then rhythm, of Crime,...
fused and F***ed ,any and all Solutions
angel dusted, Cracked mind
left a hole
in a Desensitized Brain,
left rocks an no Social terrain...
every kid instantly,
a thug, innocently made with a lil Rock
a lil Baking Soda and no huh's, ..no questions on
who we was...
Catching slugs.
Baby mama Slingin. Baby 'Blingin' Poppin them drugs,
Got caught , in the rush,
caught in the crush,
of survive
to stay alive.
Then Rap, smack, attacked, that heroin,
sniffing mellow,
to a Wooler,' cooler',
baby gangster ruler. 'Chedda gettin no one is Truer.'
Sippin a 40 on the Stoop.
measuring dimes an dollars
Screams and Hollas
Back yard Blow jobs
for jus $2 Dollas..
Cops chasin, grabbin 'Collars'
amongst Junk Yard Squalor
Thugs rippin off wankstas by street Crimes imaginary 'Gangsters'
An white kids from queens, sing
' everybody really dies
NO LIE!
when that whistle-lin bullet Stings’’
White kids, bring money in wearin 'Urban' Designer ' Jerseys an Jeans'
lookin for the good drugs that only Poverty brings.
Old heads turned they
Back ,cuttin the Youngins way to much Slack
stayin hidden..
Discipline a Has been Creativity aint Risen
cause they lost track
they pulled back
the shine of Revolutions deeds...dull...
Dangerously Dead disappointments
left with shotgun shells
an the smell of gunpowder on Malcolm’s Blood.
Reminding us how we got stepped on an defeated
Daily
a checks in the mail for ya essays.
Pt.2
Got faked out , now they sit , in hypocritical persecution by their conscience of phony existence.
waited for Rap generation to be commercialized.
But lead an fire don’t lie.
Tears long left their eyes
sold for a old piece of red white and blue tie dye
snatched from the sky waving goodbye
to children’s burnt flesh handless limbs
knocking a at the door of Global Wars
Setting Suns blind eye seduced by smoke
when it came to Revolution all the old cats would turn an Run.
Closing their Tired eyes to lost lives, an when written
should i say its hypocritically or dissention?
its just a mention….
Reminding us how we got stepped on defeated
Daily
a checks in the mail for ya essays.
rich white Writers write Democratic
’’Yak’’.. useless acoustics behind Liberal 1970’s Fantasy’s
‘’Yet’’
Live and treat people Republican, Conservative Grip coin cant get a Dime from them….
Half of black folks Horizon is lost on that side
the other seen in corporate lies
in their Minstrel disguise
other in rhetorical demise,
nothing in there eyes.
Much respect or the old poets
but they never popped that lock.
never fired that glock
old poets, poems perfected like political slogans, perfected
accepted like
‘’keep hope alive’’'
power to the people'
'bobby seale's Bar- b- Q Sauce'
mixed with Brotha 'Huey’s' success an blood
a bitter taste of Failure.
A bitter taste of 'The Revolution' has been Televised, an Janet’s 'Tittie'
more watched with halftime commercials
'Got Milk?'
'Got Chips'? To go with that Struggle?
Old poets an Writers ,like yogis now
much respect.
But, they never popped that lock,
loaded that glock.
Revolutionary Fire is warm stem when they read...
Seduction without
heat when they speak.
of' NOW'…
Where they been,
aint where they goin
this time.
Pt.3
Time to move over,
Rest in ashes an clover
of past laurels.
Much respect.
But, no HEART
you saw just how far that took us
now yall just carry the scars.
Never aimed Like Lolita Lebron.
Aimed it at a mutha fucca an said STRIP!
Drop ya liberal causes, give me all the bullshit
so I can toss it out in the mutha fucckin Dept.of American sanitization
of this brainwashed nation!
Strip .. Gimmie ya wallet ,
ill return it with
the value of understanding.
Gimmie ya time piece, so I can show you what time it really is ,
before you send your sons to die in a WAR you cant Pronounce
Before
you see mamas
crystal diamond tears, sad cry.
I said strip!
Before, I knock you upside your skull file,
Shuffling all that useless data
you call a brain!
Yes the old poets good
for a liberated introduction.
Or a reason to change my slave name to an African
one.
their words , buried rotting corpses
Silent separatist servants of non action.
an the almost Revolution of the past
Before assassinations
'nip an Tuck'
'shoot an Duck'
shown on the C.B.C.
computerized Brain complacency...
Reminding us how we got stepped on an defeated
Daily
a checks in the mail for ya essays.
you look the same
but Quietly' soul- ed' Out!
I no longer wonder if you believe what you say,
I cant count on you to go my way.
Old poets an Writers ,like yogis now
much respect,
a checks in the mail for ya essays.
yogis aint what we need.
you never popped that lock
or loaded that glock....
(sound of television beep)
Beepppppppp!
(a Newscaster speaks)
’’ The Revolution has Been Preempted’’
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You make a point that some will accept and some won't. And there are always factions of every generation that rail against the older, more established generations.
In my generation it was power rock and long hair and experimentation with substance and we railed against the establishment with great fervor. I can assure you that I grew out of it. Sadly though, in my experience, the generation that wants desperately to be heard often alienates the older generation, and the older generation brands them in broad-band stereotypes.
The biggest problem, the way I see it in this world, is that people do NOT know how to communicate anymore.
A good rant!