Rogues

Rogues

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

A Poisoned Needle (when relationships fall through)

I should've left, turned around and walked/
But, I was convinced, everytime she talked/
That I was wrong, even when I was right/
I did what I could to avoid a fight/
'Cuz she was like, "What you do with your life?"
"All that poetry you spitting ain't buying you Nikes"/
"You ain't battling nobody, can't even say that you're nice"/

Had to stop her right there, before stuff got hectic/
She starts that sucking her teeth, rolling her neck shit/

(I'm like) why you gotta snuff this little light of mine?/
Always talking smack to your fam, ain't you tired of lying?/
Before you say another word, I'll keep it short and sweet/
We're breaking up: like an audit, here's my reciepts:/

You was mean, and it hurt me to try and be nice/
I know what you did with that dude that night, you left his kicks in the closet: all white Nikes/
Seven years wasted with you in my life/
You know, I'm real glad that we're having this fight/
'Cuz you was always wrong, even when you was right/
And I hope everytime we talk/
That you can see when I left, turned around and walked/

Look What It's Done

Now what am I supposed to do?/
When just seeing cops makes me emotional?/
I'm talking about the anger building/
When the cops post up outside your building/
Like they're waiting for action, something appealing/
One in the chamber, and no feelings/
No connections to the blocks they beat/
Don't ask why we don't respect cops we see/
Never mind the deaths, cover-ups, and dealings
Focus on the entrepreneurs and the beatings/
Cuz we can't chill up in a nice sedan/
When the police just locked up the Icee man/
It's, almost all good in the hood/
Til the cops get shook, and try to get you for good/
Slam you up against the car and push your face up on the hood/
Try to run away - they put two through your hood/
Then, two through your wrists, two through your kicks/
And put the passion of our youth on a crucifix/
Now, how am I supposed to be?
When the victims all look like you and me?/
What happened to serve and protect?/
Somebody's gotta pay, it's not over yet/

Marvelous vrs.2

I'm There and Back Again like Kurt Wagner, Bilbo/
Train in the Danger Room to get my skills up/
So lets have it, I move like Bets Braddock/
A rap addict, asthmatic with gills though/
I get it in like Frank Castle in kill zones/
If "snikt!" is the last thing you heard/
It's curtains for you, see "I'm a man of my word.."
Superb, super-hyper-combo/
Stop and gasp, I'm charging up the optic blast/
First Class, Xavier's school for the gifted/
So while you getting lite, these archangels get lifted/
And spread wings, don't sling rocks, we web sling/
Ghost Ride your whip like Blaze and Ketch/
Behind the back like Willie Mays amazing catch/
Yo, the blades in my fist will stain your chest/
But you living to tell the story will stain your rep/
Its Marvelous

Marvelous vrs.1

Who's trying to match wits with Doom Doc?
Correction, that's Doc Doom/
I'm Banner with the Gamma, and the strength to rock rooms/
I knock goons out with a right red hand/
Slice nice through your camp/
And then bounce like, "Bamf!"/
Tune into Cable and time-slide/
Ram3's a myth, I don't exist in your timeline/
Keep your five mics, my gauntlet is infinite/
Now who's a Beast and the real McCoy?/
Next generation's Last Dragon, I'm Jet Leroy/
So go ahead and test me boy/
My Sword of Omens will break through your Tiger Shulmann's/
My foes face Weapon-X components/
Healing factor, blades in the fist a bonus/
I've got a bright green ring, and some pissed opponents/

Virtuosity (letting the nerd out a bit)

Ram rocks excalibur to split your shell/
Unplugs from the Matrix, stays on the low like a Splinter Cell/
Thirst for revenge like Roxanne Shante/
Purge my soul with fire, bathe in devil's tears like Dante/
Lyrical arrows let go like Legolas, leave you legless/
Ram3 plus 5 is 8-bit, I joust bareback on Pegasus/
Anti.Myth, cuz the truth hurts/
Rock loud colors, and bounce on these squares like Q-bert/
I got the intercontinental belt for flowing out of state/
Why slice with liquid swords when I can slap you with a Solid Snake/
While you grinding, I send blinding light to shine on your life/
Came at the turn of the tide, like Gandalf the White/
Purgatory escapist who spits at night with a day flow/
Angels practice Combat Evolved: look, there's my Halo/
First you bite, then suck, your whole flow's Dracula/
Anti-tank round, if you wanna measure my Soul Caliber/

Merge (first cool rhyme I remember writing)

Merge (first cool rhyme I remember writing)
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Tuesday, May 19, 2009 at 9:00pm | Edit Note | Delete
Cypher Matrix, converge on our foes/
When we merging the flows/
Feel the surge in your toes/
Through the hairs in your nose/
Til you dazed and confused/
With biotechnology the rhyme styles fuse/
Rock a scully like a head dress/
...Were you listening? Or watching the woman in the red dress?/
Bust it, the king of dreams sees through the black and green/
Rap form destroyed the platform and froze the mezzanine/
From, the Nebuchadnezzar you've never seen a better team/
Watch the Revolutions once we've Reloaded the second scheme/
We jump buildings, you can't hop trains without causing a scene/
We see these fiends, and write rhymes in kerosene/
So when you light it, the flame jumps off the page like a 3-D scene/
Your brain is the duracell for your tv screen/
Legally seize your predicate/
Even in the construct, your glass jaw's delicate/
Hack the mainframe, this ain't a game, ain't no medikit/
All these mad rappers, only one Madd Rhetoric/
Spit shit in slo-mo to slow your flow like a tourniquet/
Machines stopped in they tracks? That means that Phonetix spit/
Grabbed the track from both sides with both hands and let it rip/
Carve contours in your raps to get a better grip/
Switched sides with FilpSides just to see a second split/
Spit rhymes in ill tones that split domes in Thunderdome/
Ignite my palms at night, so the mic could glow/
We four deep, and never rock the mic alone/
Rap relating to size, rock your mega, then your microphone/
There's no beef, so leave us the hell alone/
We come through, drop lyrics, then exit through your telephone.../
Dead your dome, forget your rhyme/
Electrifying flows you couldn't dodge in bullet-time/
We pullin' rhymes/

A little mercy (Commissioned by Poetic People Power) www.poeticpeoplepower.com

Please Mr. Waterman, don't turn my water off today
Can the government, Mr. President?
Somebody have a little mercy on me

By mercy I mean information, 'cuz y'all could've told me
That access to water had to do with zoning
Or that if my tap sat still in a cup, I could see the barcoding

You sold me up a creek...
That bled into a river...
Without a paddle...
Seconds before Katrina
Y'all had no problems giving us water then, Thank You FEMA

Please Mr. Waterman, turn my water back on today
If not, Mr. Waterman, keep my water off, and charge me every possible fee
So I can flash you a look that kills, and never attempt to pay those bills,
Cuz like speech...water was made free
Before rich men with parchments forced folks to sit on their porches with parched lips
There were 2 Hydrogen, 1 Oxygen
But $10,000 water bills in Michigan has got single moms drinking lots of gin.

Tell you what, Mr. Waterman, keep the water; you'll find we are not the one,
The next time we ask for water, it won't be with "please"
It'll be with World War 3's
On our side, the sun, so listen for the drum.

Cuz we will have stopped singing the blues.

I've Been Lying

I've been lying...to save myself/
From pain that I made myself/
I was so damned ashamed of myself/
I found it real easy, just to put the blame on myself/
As a child growing down, I went from shame to just plain hating myself/
I try to find myself when I spit/
Between the snare and the kick/
I nod my head to the track, and say "yes"/
Affirmation goes straight to my chest/
Cuz "yes", is what I wanted to hear/
Instead of "No, you won't see your father this year"/
Or "No, you look more like your father each year"/
Then, "No, you can't get new shoes this year,/
ask for your father for the money that he owes this year"/
This is the pain, that makes me rock flows in your ear/
But I know, my lies are being chased by my fears/
Now I'm crying, but a drop of blood chases the tear/
Wets the surface of a mirror that embraces the fear/
Of me..being the man that my pops was/
Having kids at the same age that my pops was/
On the beat right now trying to escape who my pops was/
A man since then..now I know who my pops was/
A boy since then, with his hands in his pop's gloves/
I've been lying/

Spit-Rite (aka lyrical supermarket)

Mr. Myth, at Spit-Rite, I'm the Assistant Manager/
Carefully stocking metaphors in aluminum canisters/
We got: bottle of flows, soul, mic control/
Back-spinners on tile floors, stage presence? in aisle 4/
Plus..keeping it real's two for five/
Producers in the frozen section, DJ's doing it live/
Skillz stockpiled, and this is not for greed/
It's just that some of y'all need/
Some skills to pay the bills so we bringing y'all up to speed/
So we opened up this spot, to show you what we got/
(what's in the back?) - Turntablism, Why not to use plagiarism/
Watch hip-hop outplay the system/
(What else?) - B-Boying and Tagging, A History of this rapping/
Not getting caught up in trapping, and Spitting without the clapping/
Pens with unlimited inkwells/
Books that dont break, muses to help you think well/
Linguistic proficiency, breath control efficiency/

War

Yo, if life's a bullet, lies are a son of a gun/
PlayStation's trying to make me an army of one/
These radio stations don't play what I want/
So forget Clear Channel, I'm a say what I want/
We go from medal of honor to honor metal automatics/
Billboards show Bush support,
while his war's supporting havoc/
We are the half-people of this half a nation/
Mickey Mouse killed your spouse through character assassination/
See, the ties between Army Corp., corporations, bullet riddled corpses all up in your face/
Lies at the core of how privates become Corporals/
How subliminal messages turned into something corporeal/
But why's the TV trying to tell me my morals?/
Tell me to die to be free, but pay to be immortal/
I'm out of hot metaphors, or sick allegories/
But what I got left,
is an everyday story:/
I come home from work, trying to make my ends/
Turn on the TV, start watching Friends/
That's deep, 'cuz GE and NBC are friends/
Minorities turned immigrant-haters, business turned military/
Policies litigated made religion utilitary, still it's scary/
Cuz no rains can quell these flames/
We're just pawns on the board during Patriot Games/
It's local, let's just narrow the point focal, make it vocal/
(something like this)
Six. hundred million for a stadium, less than one-third of that for education/
Police presence increased tensions, see why I seek vengeance?/
But I gotta go to work and respect these complete methods/
See? It ain't easy to speak, when the only thing between me and
being six feet deep is the beat/
This administration is scared of people who think/
But knowledge is power, the sword is the ink, so don't blink/

?'s

Why the fuck am I about to write this song?/
Why do I fight just to right these wrongs?/
Why don't my parents support poems and my rhymes?/
Why do the good die young, but grandparents die one at a time?/
Why thinking 'bout my past got me wanting to cry?/
Why do you miss the ones you love, and can't hit the ones you hate?/
Why do I know I love my wife right after debates?/
Why the hood gotta duck from jakes?
Why does the mongoose have such bad blood with snakes?/
Why do gangs throw down like they fight for stakes?/
Why we gotta pay a fine just for sitting on crates?/
Why do I choose to procrastinate instead of do what it takes?/
Who said it was cool for dudes to do a bid upstate?/
Why did so many listen? -scratch that, that ?uestion is late/

In The Shadows of Proposed Victory (after thoughts on Bush/War In Iraq)

I can almost swear I remember him saying "victory".
He said, "victory"- I saw no such thing.
I saw victims, victims of patriotism.
Saw social vivisections and violence,
Rivers of black gold that drown out Arabian violets.
Saw the bravery of blind obedience beat upon the brows of blue-collar soldiers.
If victory is the scent of corpses smoldered in desert suns,
And fathers turning martyrs, in turn, deserting sons.

He said, "victory".
He meant victory like World War II,
I saw "victory" like Vietnam, victory like Hiroshima, victory like Panama,
Like the war on drugs, like Black on Black crime, like unemployment.
Victory was the plan, or at least that was the title he chose.

I didn't see victory, unless of course it implies success,
Which implies a goal (wherein lies intent).
Cuz in that case that administration successfully reached its' goal
Where Jesus-looking babies were obliterated
So their Mohammad-looking fathers (agitated at their land's being lacerated)
Are martyring so hard we just miss the invisible hand,
Giving us new weapons to fight the old ones.
Intent at last.
He said victory.

My Soul's Movement vrs.3

I would love to live off my spitting/
To get paid for my writtens/
I paid dues, seen the dark days fade in my vision/
Complained when the pain almost had me changing mission/
I made a decision to play my position/
To make waves in whatever ways came to fruition/
Enrolled in the school of hard knocks, without paying tuition/
In my spare time, kicked rare rhymes that contain the flame that you missing/
I keep it real, you audition for the shit that I'm living/
Loud and clear, it's my year - no space for remission/
No negotiation, ain't no terms and conditions/

My Soul's Movement vrs.2

All I need is a second to pick up this mic/
I could scream and change the seasons if that's what you like/
You best believe I'm sick to death of being in life/
I know I'm right, so I focus on my purpose and reason/
And get the stress out - simply by speaking/
Embrace the bass by just breathing/
And make everything okay by just believing.../
That god's madness has a method - I'm seeing, with eyes wide for the first time seeing/
Truly conceiving in my mind what is needed for forward progression to stop the grieving/
To understand what it means to have a plan, not just dreaming about scheming/
Without bleeding my doubts all over the pages leaking/
My fate, I'm seizing - my destiny seeking speech is just peaking/
I stare into time and space, you're just peeking/
Breathe in..you know the vibe you can feel in your bones?/
It's the same vibration you hear in my soul, dig it?

My Soul's Movement vrs.1

I love the rush I get gracing the stage/
Gripping the mic/
I get to recite, embracing this rage in me/
I wish to paid plenty/
But why would I?/
How could I look myself the eye after?/
Life's been slavery, but these words make me my master/
LifeMusic, which means when I'm done I can die after/
I let y'all know-I ain't no ready to die rapper/
A street author, there deep thoughts in my chapter/
There's a need for me to exceed, succeed-must be the blood that I bleed/
Cuz suckas know who I is, before they know who I be/
You'd have to be born blind then gain sight just to know how I see/
That's why I rhyme, to give you a peek at my dreams/
The fabric of my soul, see the strength at the seams?/
Believe me, your boy Ram been through the scenes/
And it's been my blessing/
To see through the digression/
In the belly of the beast and avoiding digestion/
My question: why is this my direction?/
Why do I, have to spit flames at rhyme sessions?/
Vocalize the orator my ancestors time-tested/
I know the answer lies in a simple, divine lesson/
Cuz I have to, if I didn't who else would try? listen/

NYC

It's a fine line between Malcolm, Martin/
Boulevards, get your dreams pulled apart/
Watch the seams stretch, can't beg for pardons/
Inner-city life's like jail with no wardens/
I'm a pugilist, this wartime reporting/
From Valentine where the corner sips Ballentine/
Out of brown paper, resounds my sound caper/
To Prospect Park in the dark/
Up through LES, where they rock colors that be looking like NES/
Yes, the plumbers move bricks through the pipes/
And they pick fire flowers while the youngins get lite/
On the same streets Langston penned poems true to life/
But I'm back on the wagon, in the Bronx walk with dragons/
Take the four to the ferry get to Staten/
36 chambers on the scene, but back to BK - wait, can't forget Queens/
Gave birth to Nas and Run DMC, and Prince Akeem/
Joe Louis, best boxer ever seen/
BK's fave, B.I.G. - Mos Def, Kweli what it be?/
Back to the BX, KRS was the tree/
Back in '86 sowed the seed, I was three/
Damn man, I love NYC!!/

Run and Hide vrs.2

Spike your Nikes, and lace your Asics/
I go for your jugular, so do your best to escape this/
I don't rap, I play ouiji with dead poets/
Letters become words, turned verbs, I'm dead focused/
My people on my back, myself on the back burner/
I'm back, dipped in black, on horseback like Nat Turner/
My rap journal/
Is set up to upset these thug vets and they punk sets/
So what's next? Success/
See the best I must be, the next Malcolm X in the flesh, son trust me/
By any means, get down for what I believe in/
Give Christ himself something else to believe in/
Y'all said you'd be in the game for a minute,
but the second I get the spitting, you suckas be leaving/
betta run/

Run and Hide vrs.1

If you see the righetous writer, ride beside him/
If you feel like I feel you can sight Poseidon/
Look, the tides are turning, the fires burning/
In me, the fight's returning/
The padawan graduated, the knight's returning/
Bringing sight to the blind like Christ returning/
Ask the questions:
Am I, strong enough to lift this pen?/
Can I, preach this pride to listless men?/
No choice, just pick up the mic, spit for those with no voice/
Hone my craft, practice tactics/
Come back, with drastic acts that embarrass these bastards/
Who sell, wack tracks like crack back to the masses/
Watch me, open a page, release this rage/
My chest a furnace, my heartbeat beats the flame/
Pumps heat through the veins, ignites the pen, and then...I just let the ink burn the page/
you better run/

Story That's Never Been Told

Walk in the door, you don't know the brother/
Gotta keep it cool, can't blow my cover/
Why? It's the way I make ABC's rhyme/
It's like a lock-pick, breaking down the ADT's in yo mind/
We can pick a topic, make it relate to your grind/
It's scandalous, the way the game got your brain locked up with cameras/
They watch and they stare/
When I spit though, it's like a flare/
Overloading their senses, in a sense, you can sense it/
Cuz when I jam, I jam sensors, slam censors, damn gender/
I'ma touch you regardless/
Walk up in your building just like them gates was unguarded/
Wait, shit, that was too sick/
Damn, my cover done blown up/
It's okay I'm in the elevator and the lobby done blown up/
Ram3, y'all don't know the name? Hmm, guess I ain't blown up/
Masterpieces make disasters easy, you can call me master like Sho'Nuff/
You wanna showdown? Then show up/

Strt Fghtr

Run right through your squad, no pressing continue/
Punch x3 Shoryukens get in you/
You’re a, flash in the pan, I’m destined to last long/
You hustle? Gun crazy? You need to get capped-calm/
Loudmouth gangsters, step up and get smacked on/
Any contenders, come get that ass kicked/
I hold down tracks with a flow that does back flips/
Then hit up opponents..how quick was my Flash Kick?/
My jabs is long range, like my limbs was elastic/
Don’t complain when Yoga Flame melts your Timbs like plastic/
Verbal Ken Masters, lyrical blacksmith/
Shadowloo schemer, (tatsu-maki-senpu-kyaku) – hurricane kick FEMA/
Pirates of Dark Water, sail streets in Katrina/
It’s the fight in the blood that brings it all together/
Back up when you see the blue light and the palms together (hadoken!)/

The Cypher

Ram is a ghost, sniper scopes can’t see him/
You can try to rock his genes, but you just can’t be him/
Jump off the stage, like I’m made of adamantium/
Smack bullets barehanded, catch missiles in headlocks/
Hold up suspension bridges with dread locks/
Keep the court systems in dead locks/
My presence sets precedents, something like Dred Scott/
I’m between Baldwin and Batman, eloquent crime fighter/
Aquarian Bandstand – elemental fire fighter/
Flows fuck up your Cat Scan/
Beware the rare writer with a reason to breathe/
With lungs full of napalm, and a match up his sleeve/
Catch up with me please/
V-Dizzle beats, light-years ahead of the league/
Blackest night, brightest day, one oath I’m a keep/
Compulsive liar when I speak, no truth on the beat/
So I’m a keep spitting shit you couldn’t fucking believe/
Straight preposterous, the wordplay stimulates chakras/
Makes women climax and got me looking obnoxious/
Slow flow? Wally West top speed when I clock in/
Globetrotter, straight Jonny Quest when I’m rocking/
Gangsta Nerd, why shoot you with guns when I’ve got pens?/
Ball point heat seekers with your temperature locked in/
The pen's like a scalpel, baby, the doc's in/
You? a Datsun. Me? a DeLorean/
Ahead of time when I rhyme, making your clock spin/
Only time you kick spit is when you dribble your hock spit/
You got the game on lock, I've been seen with the lock pic/
Yea..I'm the host with the most/
Like Betelguise-that's right, Ram is a ghost/

Redeemer

"Even now in Heaven, there were angels carrying savage weapons."

I

The broken promise between brother and sister strung fatally between hope of son saving father and father's inevitable death.

I

Branded 'renegade' by the first to take the title.

Physically , a fever

Forever baptized in the swelter of air made stagnant by malignant spirits.

Chariot ablaze, straddling the fine line twixt here, now, and heaven.

Never the three shall meet.



Johnny's shotgun mouthing (an eye for an eye)

Danny's bike humming (a tooth for a tooth)

Innocent blood spilled, you can (run, run, run, but you sure can't hide)



Eyes

Filled with penance, a gaze that sears through closed lids

Ribcage, perpetual furnace, chest congested of chinking chains chinging melodies.

Chang-ing some eulogy for lost humanity.

The ghost screams when I burn,

The heat peels my flesh down to reveal two-hundred and six truths,

Clothed in fire, bound by spikes and leather.

I am Danny's breaking promise.

Fingertips bleached to the bone.

(Don't play dice against the dice-maker's apprentice.)

(He always knows more than he's willing to tell you.)

(And his hand's always hot.)

I am Johnny's vain prayers.

The result of Faustian deals made over dealt decks under the table,
under the earth,
Underworld.

"What is this great evil? Who's killed us?"

Teach Black Boys How To Cry

Dodging bullets, watching my back, underrepresentation, overexposure. Indignation, disrespect...they building a new stadium, so they raising my rent. Reading newspapers about congressional decisions to deepen my debt. The Pastor stay demanding my repentance, since I was four, he knows I've got a short life expectance, plus I'm always three strikes from a life sentence. Diabetes, high blood pressure, heart attacks, strokes. My home had no backbone, flexible spine from playing limbo with the poverty line, see if I lose, I choke. Living in a police state, beat cops provoked equals a beat down invoked by ancestral habits carved in DNA. Paranoia, disillusion, misinformation - posing as my elementary education. Economic inflation, uncle tom role models, wanna-be gangstas...and real gangsters. Chains that hang low turned noose, turned leash, species turned beast, then turned loose...on an unsuspecting youth; watch as I, without a father figure, try to figure fathers who tell sons, "why bother nigga?" Live that life, and don't shed a single tear. Then see if you dont loot a footlocker in a blackout, or spaz out when someone looks at you the wrong way..be that mad - all day, and don't do shit about it. Just try it...and see if yo' ass don't start a riot.

Lifestyles of the Used and Famous

Fame is all good, as long as you stay fly, right?/
They cite you in highlights/
Shine on you with bright lights/
They hanging on your every word up in them soundbites/
It's like...your whole life is on screen/
Cuz it looks cool, but that life don't sound right/
So you jet-set, cuz escape's your best bet/
Sniff, smoke, drink, until you forget/
That you're a role model, paying the price for success/
In blood, tears, time, and sweat/
And no privacy will you get/
Cuz every move you make gets youtubed on the 'net/
From with whom you have a brew, to with whom you have sex/
And you can't complain, cuz look at your check/
All you can do is go out in a blaze/
And spend most of your days in a hoody and shades/

Little something

I break the mold when I beat these breaks/
Flows beat the concrete, it's why the speakers shake/
I...meet my fate, make speeches great/
Cuz I, seen the legends speak to greats/
Now I, beat the odds, to beat the bets/
Then, beat the rookies to beat the vets/
Beat the best, King Kong-beat my chest/
Dominate - Ram3 stepping to the plate, swinging for the rafters/
Futuristic mics, bends light like Lens Crafters/
We hold the pen that writes the next chapter/
Behold the slave that fights back his captors/

Warcry

I push thoughts through a pen, like there was no room in my head/
The pen explodes and bleeds words like a contusion instead/
No confusing who's dead/
It's your blood, not ours/
These tactics kill rappers in minutes, not hours/
Words I write cradle life like the fertile crescent/
I've seen many bleed, now these fiends learn they're lessons/
I pray for peace, because I know the lies they stressing/
Rhymes that blind the mind's eye with a soul's reflection/
A soldier since birth, a warrior since post-pubescence/
Now I scope perfection/
Honest truth, there's no protection/
My enemies close, death at ten paces is my flow selection/
Kill a man, kill a verse, it's all recollection/
If I'm to confess, I'd surely get my sins out/
But now, it's all or nothing-grenades with the pins out/
The blood's in the water, the sharks got they're fins out/
And now the Devil's crying, like Dante with the twins out/

Teardrop

Its not what you thought, definitely not what you made it/
You think i'd take all this time, create a bond just to break it?/
The way you act toward me now, makes me think you was faking/
So I'm a say what I want, and now, I dont care how you take it/
Now I know what you think: that my decision was blatant/
You couldn't see the gears grinding, in my head I debated/
Between what I want, what I need...and the need was just greater/
I did what I had to, you made me feel like a traitor/
I remember some loving times, I'm sorry they faded/
But since we met up by chance, maybe this break up was fated/
Was feeling this for a while, you don't know how long I waited/
Teardrops fell into the fire, and burned my face I stayed patient/
I made a move when I thought, it was the right time to make it/
I knew it would hurt , but not to the point you were shaken/
Not to the point you was saying shit that was leaving me breakin'/
You pushed me away, now away's where I'm staying/ (hear my teardrops)

Afro-Latin

What does Afro Latin mean?

A movement born of movements...that Dancehall 'dutty wine', from Palo's use of the spine, to tell Nigerian lullabies along the Northwest Passage. Fated to be translated in to Voodou dances that look like second cousins to Uprock...
What does Afro Latin mean?
It means...one meal..has fifty names, 'cuz Arroz con Gandules look a hell of a lot like Rice & Peas...sugar cane and cana..Azucar Bar on 55th st...Sugar Bar on 72nd. Pastelitos and Beef Patties. Bacalao y Papas Fritas is called Fish and Chips on 125th st, in Louisiana, and by Jamaicans in London...
What does Afro Latin mean?
It means...links on a chain, to beter explain, we Afro-Latinos survived rape and being slaves..by learning to dance Salsa on our captives graves. Watch, you can see us celebrating in the hoods of America, favelas of Brazil, shantytowns of Africa, barrios of Central America, beneath tin roof in Jamaica, from el calle to la playa..in PR and DR...kids still play futbol in Haiti...
Afro-Latin means...two people look in the mirror and see the other reflection as their own.

Please Leave

Get the FUCK off my block!! And take Starbucks with you. Take your
cafes, and your bistros, and your boutiques out of my shopping centers
- your demographic doesn’t deserve to live here... Get the fuck OFF
my block!! Jogging at midnight, with your toy dog, and your ipod, in a
neighborhood you wouldn’t be caught dead in two years ago. Take your
overpriced, low-income displacing condos with you.. No, leave the
condos - but you.. Get the FUCK OFF my block!! Your whole life, you’ve
done nothing but take advantage of ME, get over..ON ME. My whole life,
all I could have pride in was my culture. You took my stores, you took
my block; you took my parks, you took my block; you locked up my
brothers, you locked up my block; you broke down my sisters, you broke
down my block..you stole my culture; a culture single mothers carried
on their backs after they gave birth to it- ON MY BLOCK!!! So, you
stole my block. And Now, I’m asking nicely...GET.. THE FUCK.. OFF.

Pirates of Dark Water

I am a wordsmith.
With a pen filled with Black ink,
I navigate the Black Waters of
thought against the current of images of an old Black woman on her project rooftop,
Watching her town drown in Black Water, as Air Force One flies overhead en route,
to discussions about, drilling holes in Arabic sand for Black Water;
The profits from which pay off Blackwater for shooting holes in Arabic Man.
I fight back with a cylinder of plastic filled with Black Water,
For you see, I am a wordsmith.
But I've seen warrior children practice activism by throwing Black rocks at tanks,
Taking shots and bleeding Black Water on the streets where they say Jesus walked on top
of Black Water saying, "Peace, be still."
No justice, no peace still,
So instead of busting blue steel, we still dip Black felt tips into Black Water and write
" We shall overcome" on oak tags and throw-up bombs and dope tags
born in the belly of aerosol cans and pressurized Black Water.
Beneath the waves of the Atlantic where the green water turns blue then turns Black,
Lies the bones of Africans chained together by fate, and by chains –
Who threw themselves into the forgiving arms of Black Water, rather than die like dogs.
I, am a lowly wordsmith, but I offer dire warning:
90% of every Human body is made up of water,
70% of all those bodies are people of color,
And two-thirds of this planet is made of deep…dark…angry…Black, water.

Care Free

The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Illegal slave ways collapsed,
But the slaves stayed,
Now with blue collars attached…
Like yoke on the necks of oxen,
Brown, White, Yellow, Arawak.
The plight of my kin’s rare,
In this land of treasured riches
My HMO doesn’t cover the cost of swimwear.
And could’ve used that in New Orleans,
But short of disaster, the cameras can’t focus
Near where the poor live.
And lens flare can’t make the projects pretty,
Them tenement conditions don’t even get the rich folks pity.
‘Cuz the function of the blue collar
Was a part of the blue print:
We proletariat work to construct the lariat
That swings from the looming gallows.
Our lives, expendable; we are still expenditures,
Told that we are pawns on a capitalist chessboard
When we are the players:
The janitors, security guards, and bricklayers.
Our deaths, early in expectation,
Are designed to pass down our debts,
Accumulated by giving our lives for these checks,
Like some reverse reparations
Where we pay back our captors.
The pay back in that we will not be paid back our back taxes.
Our administration profits from our death,
So why would they want us to have free health,
When they regretted freeing people?
’08, I have hope, ’04 didn’t have any…
Based on the issues, I wanted to vote McKinney,
But I didn’t want no drama,
Or to split the vote,
So I voted Obama.

There and Back Again

The Devil,
With a white collar and fire in his mouth.
I was orphaned
In the care of angels with invisible wings.
All was right with my world. All
Gone.
That was Deutscheland, this is New York.
I breathe fire when I leave.
I leave a lot.
I know God now, we have much in common..We’re
Gone.
Gone.
My soul is the brightest light trapped
In blackest-bluish night
No one loves me here
They’ll miss me when I’m
Gone.
New York, tastes like broken stained glass and dying dreams
A friend died here. One breath in.
Gone.
Vancouver, release of the dying dream in my mouth strangles cool air.
Vapor trails left for evidence, no one here to see me
Gone.
My professor: “I’ll help you find peace.”
His promise was peace-meal, as I’d waged constant war within me.
Breathing fire when I leave,
Tasting brimstone when I’ve
Gone.
Mom’s house, or Dad’s house – she was both to me.
No one’s here to see me
Fire in my eyes running laps down my face
Into my mouth…sizzling, then from my eyes again. This was never
Home.
My professor taught me: mother is God in the eyes of children.
Demons whispered vignettes down narrow corridors
In her womb/church.
I was orphaned by angels into a life of war for peace
My friend died here.
I’m not ready. I’ll come back when I am. No one will know I’m
Gone (Bamf!)

Breaking

Sedgewick and Cedar circa ‘79- the scene is set
And the streets have limbs, dressed in designer drugs
Plus drenched in humid conflict,
Accessorized with burnt building cufflinks and broken innocence bracelets.
These are the breaks.
Witness the culture of the phoenix
When gangs walked through blue flames and emerged as crews,
Scope the remix.
From a closed fist and a blade to doing back flips in a black vest with a
Spade.
This is the breakdown:
Writers were different fighters with leveled eyes and cans pressurized,
If you took the time to look in the city
Subway cars would scream, “All you see is crime in the city”
Cops on the corner work their beat while the footwork works the beat,
The coin drops and the baby freeze is
Def
Funky
Fresh…
Frosty.
Dope blew in like windmills and took mad warriors in its’ windchill.
A cold war for the soul
Turned soul on ice,
Smooth as black ice in the dark
Black Byrds on wax, doing it in the park.
Then wild-style-wars on Beat Street were caught,
The world captures with a lens
Steady rocks and some friends,
Quinones on canvas makes some ends,
Media starts stepping Kwik on these trends.

Inside

Inside, beats the mind of a deep design/
Speaks the rhymes that breach the times/
Is what you see, but deep inside/
There's another me who sees inside/
Doesn't see the light and seems to cry/
Other's see the righteous in my eye,
But never the violence in my life/
Not the rape and torture of my youth/
How I force myself to tell the truth
When I wanna lie all the time/
'Bout who I am and where I've been/
Cuz I've been lying deep in sin/
Trying to force a smile, when I'm really crying deep within/
It's hard to walk a mile when you're dying, see within/
Hypermetabolic diagnosis/
Headaches got me popping pills in higher doses/
Shhh! keep this a secret, no one knows this/
I used to hate myself so much, it shows when/
I dont take my own advice/
It shows in/
The reckless way I hold a knife-
so close to the wrist, but I wont just slice.../

Here, I Stand

Loving, fighting... It's all I've ever done. Against odds etched in slabs, but here I stand. Where my ancestors worked themselves to death, and received no land. Bought with by baubles from natives who perceived no scam. Here, I stand - thriving in a desert where opportunities are the sands, and originality the oasis. In fear of brass, since bullets seek to keep my thesis in stasis, but here I stand. Because my uncles were killed at sit - ins, and I want to see my enemies...in the eye. I stand here, 'cuz face down's how my kin used to die.

But standing here is not enough, I must move forward. My survival was written in stone, but my success has no blueprint, I must move forward. Subsidized loans provide shelter, but not a people's movement, I must move forward. Between sand dunes' harsh crests, civilization's are cradled - I must move forward. Pieces of lead took my leaders, I will lead in their stead - my passions enabled, I must move forward. Forward, past blaming others for my misfortune. I must move forward - no longer gazing into the evening, but pressing toward the morning...But here..I stand.

And We Are Not Moved...Inspired by talks with Despierto (Luke) and Black Rogue (Aisha)

Good Evening, my people. It's customary to start these things with a quote, so here it is:

"We are not free." --Me, now.

-They will tell you to stay quiet about such things. Afraid of waking giants, whose loud steps awaken sleeping dragons. But listen to what I tell you - it matters not what they say, because we are not moved.

There was a time when people of color were not allowed, under law to marry. One-hundred years later another oppressed group is barred from marriage by our government - we are not moved.

After four-hundred years of anguish, pain, ever-lasting dissent, and labor, there has not been a Black President, representative, or unassassiniated voice - and we are not moved.

There are wars, genocides, and oppression validated by bottom line economy - and we are not moved!

More babies everyday, less fathers every hour, but more mothers every minute- and we are not moved?

The world trade gets knocked down, we are moved for two weeks; "Farenheight 9/11" drops, we are moved for two hours. Yet weeks, months, years after - still we are not moved.

With the same routine acceptance, and expectation with which we send our children to school, others send their "children" off to war, and our "adults" have slain them- and we are not moved.

The homeless die beside us, there last breaths a prayer for visibility- the bombs riddle lands far away , they whisper freedom and shout death. We are not moved.

Soldiers who wandered onto the battlefield, losing their way on the path to a degree, wither away on lands infertile, but for black flowers of liquid gold that prove the Earth is bleeding for our sins.

And We Are Not Moved.

A Perfect Murder

-She bled to death, died before the words left my mouth...
Somehow, my tongue slit both her wrists and throat in such
unison, such synchronicity the sound of her skin opening
resembled a choir of dying seraphim. And I didn't even mean to hurt her.
I whispered in her ear, "I'm not happy here."
-Her heart stopped before she shed the tear.
My words plunged deeply into her chest,
as if her breastplate was a tissue paper collage
composed of what little self esteem she had left.
By the time I was done talking, the blade was so far in
you could only see the period that ended the sentence.
-I thought I had one foot out the door before her body hit
the floor, but I didn't. The sound of her head bouncing off
the ground sent chills through my soul like the screams of
suffering children. I brushed my hand over her curly locks and
could feel her dying beneath my fingertips. I killed her with
reluctant (if not unconscious) efficiency, she was murdered perfectly,
and my words left no fingerprints.

"For Mordred"

-Forgive me father for I know not what I do.
Forgave my father for what he did not do.
Forgot my father and tied knots without "I do."
Forgo my father, do better forgo my son - remember what I did.
-Let us embrace - spear meets sword in battle.
Spill the blood that beats in my heart that you put there,
you theived in the night; my mother thought me a crook like
you, 'cuz when my body grew so did her hatred for a son that
looked like you. Left like you - worse for wear, 'cause when
she stares, it's like bullets, and I can't rock a vest like you.
Left you like, she left me - but what were you doing when
she needed you to be the man woman had never seen. I am a
man I've never known tending to wounds in my soul I never
learned to sew - thanks to seeds never sown.