.... Woochie, bitch!
Urban-ghetto landscapes scraped me early in my youth
Mama kissing those wound with
Supreme loving
But there I was again
Off
and running
Ducking crooked cops
Sworn to put a stop
To young hard rocks like me
Sporting our caps cocked
Deep
to the right
Creep
through the night
Stomachs
uptight
Seeing
with no sight
Blind, in other words
Lifestyle absurd
“GD until the world blow up”
Was our plighted word
Fighting in herds
And never landing a solid punch
Systematically subjugated
In Chi-Town Segregated
Never knew other races
until a visit To the Audey Home
Butt-naked and dethroned
from our project zone
And Saint Charles could not sanctify
Or provide
The fear of god
Times of living hard
left too many battle scars
Not all times visible
We lived no principles
Simple ghetto motto:
“Get that money nukka”
So the counselors figured
We’d never stand and deliver
Blew the brothers up
with potatoes and liver
Shivering
in summer
Sweating
in winter
A lifetime furlough from realness
Is what we knew
Returned
to the street
Burning
envious heat
Every brother we meet
Automatically suspect
Before
automatic gats
And technology of death
Our paths
were chosen to keep us frozen
Stuck
on stupid
Man
We’d bum rush cupid
No love
we exhibited
That shit
was prohibited
Only visits off the block
Were excursions to the Loop
Picking pockets for loot
Feathered hands to salute
Tripping
over vital points
We landed
in the joints
“Bottom of the World Ma”
As if by appointment
Learning disappointment
when girls broke bad
Never knowing what we had
We were on a mad dash
Cash
ruled the subject
We knew
no economics
Trapped
by reaganomics
Shit
became hectic
Life
so frantic
Narcotics
became medicine
Trees our herbal remedy clearly defined insanity
Vanity Fair in Fox Brothers’ suits
Tailor-made for our pursuit
Of the American nightmare
Shooting dice
in stairways burning out days
Dazed
in this maze to old folk amazement
Blood
on the pavement from brother I ran with
Young sisters
having shorties
And the parents never planned
The seed
was conceive
to Roger Troutman’s:
“I Wanna Be Your Man”
But kid what’d no man
He a dysfunctional boy
His father he never knew
So ‘ol girl was his toy
How
are you to be responsible
When your ability to respond
Had
never been cultivated?
Educative measures designed to bury our greatest treasures
And an entire childhood spent
Desperately trying to recover it
Discover this
Enter the Phoenix
Precious Black Jewels we found in the dismal crypts
Osiris-Jesus mix
Proving wrong this whole establishment
Locked in this cell
with nothing but books to read
Breaking down
every word of the Chairman’s Creed
My Soul began to bleed
From the Bible
to the Qur’an
History and archaeology
My self started rising like Kilimanjaro
Over African plains
To frame it is tangible
in my way
