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They say
“come follow me, follow me"
but they've forgotten that their prophecy is probably what's killing us all
economies are costing me
commodities accosting me
constantly stopping the cacophony from calling for autonomy
Impossible but possibly they got a free lobotomy
the truth is often a collective oddity or anomaly

And there's nothing exceptional really stopping me
honestly I'm part of your astronomy like Ptolemy

Equality has honestly gotten to be abolished
and polished off like it's porridge
now protestants hate the Pontiff
don't bother me 'til we're on it
and consciousness is upon us
until the prophets are in my college and Anonymous my monarchy

Man I get it - forget it
don't embellish their letters
presently your pestering my presence
you're pathetic
you're 7/11 in my memory
I see your pedigree
I see enemies as amphetamines that never enter me

I haven't finished
not submitting or being diminished
I'm committed to admitting everything ever been hidden
so you listen to my mission in collision with my spirit
I'm admitting all my sinning and I'm giving no apology


I’ve been to every gritty little village and city
I’ve seen milli little kids without a penny in pity
they're paying a pittance to the peasants to keep 'em skinny
I’m trying to spread the message but it’s killing like Achilles

Still spitting on the corner from California to
speaking on the borders of paranormal and really
and even if nobody is celebrating my victory
my letters are spreading like confetti throughout the city

Along all meridians
kids by the millions
living in the slums
skin mostly obsidian
family Abbyssinian
African or Indian
even in Australia
Indigenous resilience.

I’m waiting on the senate I hope to finally get it
I’m waiting on the people to vote and finally vet it
I’m waiting on the parliament to grow and develop
I think it’s time we stop the whining and finally pay repentance

But I’m not holding my breath
I mean I’ve got a cold shoulder to stretch
I mean I’ve got a boulder on my back and my neck
'cause It feels like holding up the Atlas when rapping my text


They tell me I - coulda been a rapper
but this shoulda woulda coulda isn’t action
and actually it’s the rapper in me that keeps preaching in patterns
thinking back to when I rapped on the streets for practice

That's when I’d freestyle for no change
no joke got no gains
blew up - no propane
no-one knew no names
'cause I didn’t really smoke or blow trees
or coke dream
so I wasn’t "in with the scene"

I just hoped my lyrics would light fires
and see if the right guy
would hear it the right time and gimme a life-line

Now I’m a zeitgeist
hitting a typewriter
poetry pied piper
killing the mic I don’t need to be signed I believe in my sci-fi:
a kid with the right mind can rocket it sky high.

Half biggie / half hippie with tie-dye - turnin pipe dreams into pipelines

Half elegant
half Pastor/Reverend
paragraph art peddlin
fountain pen veteran
and to the death of him
weathered by every the element
and every lesson is a blessing on my pen again


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