I speak experience from streets, never a pulpit when I preach
On Blakk beats. From misunderstood and misbegotten weeks
And days – or even -years- of repressed expression
Now I’m reaching for the stars like the -ground- just went missing!
I scribe with Hypodermic needles…can you feel what I’m spittin?
I’m flowin water on to paper, God walkin in my written
I paint a picture like a paintbrush is attached to the inkpen
Writin “paint” on the easel. I’m just the dope the world’s fiendin
I “hawk up” the past of slaves, expectorate on your “behave”
You expect me to be ashamed? Of my history, or chains??
They say “reverse racism” when I remember the past
Reference what blacks have done, gain some pride and show some class
But I laugh at another attempt to confuse and subdue me
They claim me like my hair: unmanageable and unruly
But…I’ve never been the type that would lick a cowlick
I’m more…dreaded locks and a soliloquy that’s -sick-!


There go the pimp/preacher in his corner-store church
Leasin absolution when they pass collection plate
Hope’s for sale from Dixie cups in his Cadillac hearse
As he pretends to have relevance – to the crime rate
With a fresh pair of gators and a crocodile-smile
He wouldn’t go an -inch- to help you, let alone the extra mile
…I think I just felt my words break Mach one
Because you feel what I’m sayin ¬-before- I’m even done
Like decrying them corner-store orphanages
Where fatherless children are raised to make more orphan kids
And single mothers are slaves to the stereotypical perception
Of a world that cannot forgive that fateful misconception
That led to a decision of responsibility
And a mother that didn’t want it, but accepted what had come to be
She’s doing the best that she can to make a man out of me…
-That’s- why we worship our mothers, like they just gave us “free”


I disparage intellectual fools with false hypotheses
Spoutin foolish wisdom with the confidence of prophecies
…my people, let Pharaoh go!
My people…LET. PHARAOH. GO! …or just drink the Kool-aid
I’m on the corner of Forever, pushin -wisdom- as a hustle!
Flowin words banned for -excellence- to illustrate the struggle
I called myself Christ’s brother, and thought it not robbery (son of God)
Said I was made in God’s image, so I thought it not mockery (Genesis 1:27a)
To pray in the mirror. Askin God to remake me
Til I reflect the Son’s glory, like a spiritual moon, b
My flow is a pole that could’ve caught Jonah’s Big Fish
But I’m throwin -men- hooks and lines like, “ay yo! Catch this!”
Drawin men to Christ like Michelangelo’s canvas (Creation of Adam)
Conversation with God, steady prayin like a Mantis
It’s by King James’s name that I spit in prophetic sentences
The living sixty-fifth-book-after-Genesis…(how’s -that- for truth?!?)



- Revelations