Last Call like last song
My Uncle Woochie keeps going strong
Me and The LowEnd Gang Orchestra will keep politicking on
Woochie, bitch!
i vote for just one more song about the ghetto
just one more in all its variations,
you know: the set the 'hood the projects
but make that shit real gruesome, kid! vincent-price-rappin'- with-icey-mike-jackson gruesome matter of fact, we need negro extras and extra negroes emerging from shallow graves to quincy jones' break beats, sun:
THRILLER!
or a grand exodus from the mausolems of malfeasance
we need not browbeat ghetto inmates in this song for wanting to get High as they get by:
its a sign of discontent
they just haven't realized that god is NO THING
we need just one mo' betta blues song, y'all
to pontificate our fiendish predicament and not be falling for no mo' okey-dokes, joe
let's crucify dime-bag entrepreneurs to their woodgrain steering wheels and loop that scene indefinitely until we're jolted from catatonic complacency
fuck it
let's get some formerly ghetto'd jews and italians to show us how to scheme our way out the ghetto 'cause doowop and bebop didn't work and Motown only made a select few mobile,
who have recently come crashing back into us as burnt out divas smashing into closed cadillac doors when there should have been forgiveness
yeah,
we singing unsung heroes and she-roes in this song and giving mad props to hip-dified country bumpkins for their clandestine activity of smuggling negro spirituals up north
hidden away in southern slang
that preserved our warrior linguistics yeah, one more time for that definitive ghetto melody
packaged in easily affordable box sets that must be blasted from all audio contraptions available
we need post mortem
tracks
produced written and arranged by curtis mayfield and nina simone so we can drive by mississippi goddamn as we keep on pushing with sassy intelligence provided by left-eye featuring muddy waters sophstications
some primal voodoo shit that white cats like godsmack can appreciate: because we need serenity
some native slum rattle and hum that'll resuscitate the native tongues and have everyone speaking in sacred tongues directly to ONE let's mix donny hathaway's ghetto with too short's and the Rakim
and to demonstrate the blind can lead the blind
and that visual sight has little to do with insight
we'll have stevie wonder and ray charles hitting the road, jack harmonizing about village ghetto land
with wu-tangs's geniusa opening each show with another victim of the ghetto
i'm telling you
this the shit
the last hurrah ghetto song
Listen
billie holiday and erica warning us of dangerous strange fruit
swinging from treeless street corners corners that have always been either urban country clubs or training ground for martyrs and ghetto super stars
this ghetto serenade will be our sonic conlave
hosted by robert johnson: master of the crossroads
there we'll tap slowgrind and breakdance our way "out of our constrictions"
