1. |
We Are The Last Poets
00:40
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This wind you hear is the birth of memory. When the moment hatches in time’s womb, there will be no art talk. The only poem you will hear will be the spear point pivoted into the punctured marrow of the villain, and the timeless native son dancing like crazy to retrieved rhythms of desire faded into memory. Therefore, we are The Last Poets of the world.
And the question is not whether the world is ready for change but rather are you, niggaz.
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2. |
For The Millions
08:12
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For the millions of Africans
Chained to the slaves ships
For the millions of scars
On the faces by the bullwhip
For the millions who jumped overboard
For the blood that poured
On the shores of North America
South America Central America Europe
And each ripple in the ocean
Is a grave for an African
Who refused to a be a slave
For the millions
Who cut the cane picked the cotton
Whose names have been forgotten
Whose flesh has rotted
With the trees they hung us from
Cut out the tongues
Cut off our hands
If we played the drums
For the millions who were shot hung beat to death
Tar and feathered boiled in oil
whiplashed backlashed
Croc sacked and thrown in the river
Castrated mis-educated segregated
Integrated legislated by the constipated
For the millions who've been lied to
Denied to vampire eyed to
Misguided to and not abided to
So we decided to get together
And change the weather
Not just for now but forever
We decided to love each other
Stop the madness
And be real sisters and brothers
We decided to stop and take a look
At the beauty of ourselves
At this colored skin
And this thick hair
And these full lips
And this Africa inside our Souls
Still breathing the breath of Gods
In our lungs
Greatness is where we're coming from
For the millions who marched sang
Prayed sat in lived in jailed in
Boycotted picketed spit at cursed at
Yelled at like Blacks not where it’s at
And we should be satisfied
To ride in the back
For the Fanny Lou Hamers and the Rosa Parks
And the Eula Mae Johnsons and Harriet and
Solourner and Eleanor Bumpers and
Assata Shakur and Gwendolyn Brooks
And the Martins and the Arthurs
And the Deacons the Panthers and James
And Langston and Richard Paul Malik
Marcus and Nat and Cinque and Kunta Kinte too
For the millions who know those who have always known
That no matter what
"Truth crushed to Earth shall rise again"
No matter how many bullets and prisons
Diseases and deaths
No one can take our breath away
We are here to stay
No matter how much liquor and crack
Nothing can kill the fact
That we are a divine creation
Started civilizations
Built the pyramids and the Sphinx
Taught the world
How to pray and think
Not mention inventions
We never got credit for
And all the babies we raised
Even when our own were ignored
For the millions with fire in our souls
That burns so bright
And the strength of our will
As dominant as the night
And the rhythm when we walk
And the rhythm when we talk
Even when we have nothing to say
We utter sounds
That put color and spice in the day
For the millions
Who are ready to turn this thing around
Who are tired of being tired
And crawling on the ground
It's time to return
To our Spiritual Home
Reclaim our Throne
And leave this American Nightmare
Alone.
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3. |
A.M. Project
08:40
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The Media has been alerted to the brave new World with action packed comedies full of Navy SEALs and dirty blondes. Welcome to the Revolution where ex-CIA madmen go AWOL in children’s cartoons. No deposit no return. A sickness prevails in the land… the keepers of the watch are fondling the children. Youthful madness chasing games around the fire. Malt liquor grins dripping with the sacrifice of innocence. The blood in their eyes smile so defiantly at their wounds. Teasing and following laughter to its death. Dancing in the joys of casual violence and polite discussions of their senseless acts. Screaming songs of big time and champagne into the dreams of open sores that lurk and scheme in the shadows of clouds of smoke. Begging for slow rides in silent ambulances to well stocked morgues where rhythm and blues oozes out of muted loudspeakers. Wholesale genocide at discount prices. America love it or leave it. Bloated egos with small minds baptizing murder in the name of God and everything we hold sacred. Mickey Mouse… Donald Duck… forever let us wave our banners High High High… Sitting here in the midst of falling leaves overwhelmed by this symphony of freedom. Letting go… Letting go… of others who want to claim all of this as their own. A rat makes its presence known keeping all… things real. Screeching… and scurrying to nowhere fast. Trapped in its own greed and grandiose visions of self-destruction. Women caressing jagged tears while kissing their frustrations with stolen moments. Their pain exploding into the darkness of shall I try this one more time. Cocaine has become the law and order of Big business and corruption riding through the streets on the frowns of rookie cops who relieve their frustration in the cold blooded antics of shoot to kill. My Country… sweet land of napalm and unwritten poems of Soprano saxophones crying for those tears that are stuck in reverse and the latest cable t.v. channel. And I hear the voice of nature whisper the victory is yours if you want it. The victory is yours if you want it. Love the children in the beginning to save them from the end. Somewhere I Hear a revival. Somewhere I hear bop playing. The voice across the waters Standing in the dark. Mintons was a Shrine to the Diaspora. Mink speaking in the tongues of his ancestors denouncing the frail mediocrity of you people didn’t come from anything. Somewhere I hear a revival. Somewhere I hear bop playing. It is paying in the hip hop walks of young boys who hit strange notes with hands on triggers. Bam… Bam… Bam… Max roach picks up the beat. Rhythms from the bush. Passionate and vital information. Intense stares into the memories… of Warriors… lovers of children and the protection of women who now seek protection in the distant and foreign fears of dying at the hands of desperate choices. Bird lives. Bird lives… in the death to all you hip ofay Lies lost in the darkness of oversized berets. Sucking my blood with your well publicized and try juvenile poetry. I play for the gods. I play for Allah. I play for all those souls… lost in your pretentious smiles and cool jazz as I continue my journey home. You stole my father. You stole my mother. And now you try to deny this one last tribute to God. You will not rejoice in my death. You can’t kill bop… the brotherhood is strong. Get ‘em Junior. Get ‘em Junior. Up jumps Miles bobbing and weaving. Sticking and moving. Going against traffic on a one way street. Loving… all the women in the crowd and in their dreams. Miles… the warm afterglow of an African Sunset. Someday my Prince will come. Someday my Prince will come. Miles turning his back on guaranteed death and low life insinuations perpetuated the perverted fantasies of the founding Fathers of these United States of… Fuck you mothafuckas! Fuck you mothafuckas!... Miles was our gators and lizards. He was our silk shirts and hickey freemans. He was our cool slow walks into the wind. He was our delicious smile on the face of extreme and bitter rejections. Get ‘em Junior. Get ‘em Junior. That sound… What is that sound? So clean. So fluid. Emotions so hot in the passing of Summer into Autumn. The magnificence of awakening to something so rare… so new. Images dreaming softly in slow dances that wrap themselves so tightly around our doubts. I touch your face. You touch mine. He is so tender with our needs. So strong in our desire to be free. The definitions of his statement colors the skyline. He was that one last feeling of logic before needle punctured the vein. He was the music the morning after the resurrection of pain and prayers in the twisted honor and slight applause of demons and folk heroes stabbing us in the back. He was a love Supreme. He was a love Supreme. And I hear the voice of Nature whisper, the victory is yours if you want it. The victory is yours if you want it. Somewhere I hear a revival. Somewhere I hear bop playing… in the faces of Southern old men full of Northern pain. It is Dizzy, Sonny, Jackie, Philly Joe, Kenny, Charlie Clifford and many many more if you listen to the laughter of the children in the Projects and their sense of rhythm to survive. Bop is learning how to be yourself to feel the beauty inside. No more slick street games in the anticipation of growing… and pushing… pushing… forward coming into full expression. Long way from home. So close to love. The spirit wants to move. My mind frozen in worthless flesh. Back from the dead by Allah’s mercy. Leaving the Devil standing in the pain, leaving the pain alone. I give my salaams to the right and left. Good has become a kind and loving companion. Bad was only a test of faith. I now find strength in the humility of this moment. This eternal moment of peace to all… of those who come to understand that bop is love… and love… is all… you are and ever will be. And I hear the voice of nature whisper, the victory is yours if you want it. The victory is yours if you want it!
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4. |
Heartbeat
02:19
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When the heart beats the spirit flows
When the heart beats the river flows
Raised by fire Heat is heard
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5. |
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IF WE ONLY KNEW WHAT WE COULD DO
WE’D STOP FUSSIN AND FIGHTIN AND FEELIN BLUE
IF WE ONLY KNEW THAT WE HAVE JUICE
CAUSE OF AN AFRICAN CONNECTION
THAT WE CAN’T CUT LOOSE
IF THE LIGHT WAS ON IN OUR MINDS
WE WOULDN’T DIS OURSELVES
SO MUCH ALL THE TIME
WE’D STOP AND REALIZE WITHOUT DISGUISE
WE GOT THE POWER TO CHANGE
WHAT’S BEFORE OUR EYES
WHERE THERE IS POVERTY AND MISERY
WE’D BRING HOPE JOY LOVE AND SECURITY
THERE WOULDN’T BE NO NEED TO LOCK YOUR DOORS AT NIGHT
NO ONE LIVES IN THE DARK
CAUSE EVERYONE SEES THE LIGHT
IF WE ONLY KNEW JUST HOW BAD WE ARE
WE’D MAKE THE SUN DISAPPEAR
CAUSE WE’RE THE BRIGHTEST STAR
IF YOU FEEL THE STRENGTH
HELP THOSE WHO ARE WEAK
THEN WE’LL BE STEPPIN IN THE RHYTHM THAT MALCOLM SPEAKS
SO YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE A CHICKEN
AND YOUR BUTT WAS MADE FOR KICKIN
YOU BEEN RUNNIN AROUND
WITH YOUR HEAD HANGIN DOWN
LOOKIN FOR CHICKEN FEED
IN THIS CITY OF GREED
OPEN UP YOUR EYES
DON’T YOU KNOW YOU CAN FLY
LIKE AN EAGLE TO THE SKY
MUCH HIGHER THAN HIGH
WHERE YOU DON’T NEED NO CRACK SMACK OR PADDY WACK
AND ALLTHE BONES FROM THAT DOG
YOU CAN GIVE THEM RIGHT BACK
IF WE ONLY KNEW WHAT WE COULD DO
WE’D STOP FUSSIN AND FIGHTIN AND FEELIN BLUE
JUST LIKE WE CUT OUR HAIR IN AN AFRICAN STYLE
WE SHOW A RICH ROYAL TREASURE EVERY TIME WE SMILE
NOW SOME TIME AGO WE JUST DIDN’T KNOW
THAT WE HAD THE POWER TO MAKE THE WHOLE THING GO
MOTIVATOR EDUCATOR WE’RE A POWER GENERATOR
WE NEED TO OWN THE JOINT
INSTEAD OF WORKING AS A WAITER
IF WE ONLY KNEW HOW STRONG OUR WILL
NO MATTER WHAT’S BEEN DONE
OUR SOUL CAN’T BE KILLED
LIKE THE SUN AND THE MOON
AND ALL THE STARS ABOVE
IT’S A NATURAL THING
FOR US TO SHARE OUR LOVE
WE’RE A HEALING FORCE
IN A WORLD OF PAIN
TRYING TO USE COMMON SENSE
WHERE LIFE IS INSANE
IF WE COULD RECOGNIZE JUST WHO WE BE
WE’D TAKE CONTROL OF OUR LIVES
AND LIVE WITH DIGNITY
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6. |
Young Love
06:31
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Intro (Malik B)
If your tryin to get it than I got it .
Monopoly your property the product
Overcome the obstacles the object
Publicizing houses in the projects
Another young man died yesterday. His bloodstained presence slammed against our Sunrises. How and when will we begin to cherish the welcome of his smile. A manchild submerged in the Purple liquid of night. They fall aimlessly through the cracks of darkness. The full moon becomes a partner, a silent partner in shutting down bars, Shutting down Cities. Shutting down dreams of Daddy walking and talking while holding your hand, Our children cry out to us from their fears… From their suicides… From their innocence and loneliness being betrayed by lazy pimps and limp smiles. The Opera is in full form. The drama unfolds… The violin is both tragic and comforting. The piano light and inspiring. The crescendos between light and darkness are truly stunning. This could have been a true love story full of twists and turns of pain and triumph of the game… begins to evolve… from shoe shines to stickups from stickups to b and e from b and e to quiet hustles from quiet hustles to residing in that comfort zone between High Crimes and Misdemeanors. New songs from Old radios were crippled poems lounge in digital wheelchairs whistling in the dark while spitting acrobatic words at Boombox musicians who scratch and sample the wax from the Devil’s ears while conducting bling bling concertos that howl… at the moon. In all… those projects. In all… those quick glimpses of death. In all those sudden and unwanted intrusions lurking inside your paranoia… begins to open wide to receive your transition from Champagne and free base to crack and old English just like that. Where is the glory? What was the glamour? Who were the police? What happened in the shootouts? Why were so many bullets left in the wind?... In the Walls… In the chests of 23 year old young men standing in the wrong places at the wrong time. Their last breath of manhood… simply pleading… Don’t let me die… Don’t let me die… Please… Don’t let me die….
Outro (Malik B)
Yeah
This was a drug plot eyes red blood shot this what the thugs drop overdose of bloodclot
Im so thirsty I just quench it with some controversy
Heard the story of a god who always promise mercy
This Allan’s gift
Post a grave yard shift
Took your last breath now your laying all stiff
Listen young blood hatin me some young love
I was made to formulate into a young stud
Why you in the club acting like a dumb scrub
Used to jump I did anything I want cause
Watching channel hope cause I got the antidote
While you place it I Just slice it like a cantaloupe
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7. |
Black Rage
06:48
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Grenades in their eyes
Death is their prize
Peace will arise
Destroy the lies
There are bombs standing on the corners of the cities
Waiting to explode at the slightest touch
Baggy shadow street boys stand cocked
Ready to fire
Their eyes are grenades
And the pin is about to be pulled
BOOM!
The brother went off
Pressure pulled the trigger
And the brother became a nigger
No one could figure out how it happened
What went wrong
He had a chance
Somebody even loved him
Told him he was better than most
But the brother went off
Chains rattled inside his brain
And his sky was filled with clouds
That didn’t even bring rain
Just the illusion that something was coming
So he became a gun
That he could hide in a jacket
And make believe he had an erection all the time
He could penetrate anything
His tongue was a curse
His attitude was a bullet
And he’d shoot you down
Without a second thought
(Chorus)
So he became G.I. JOE
Killing his family not the enemy
A human gun
Made and manufactured
In the united snakes of America
There are bombs standing
On the corners of the cities
Waiting to explode at the slightest touch
Baggy shadow street boys stand cocked
Ready to fire
Their eyes are grenades
They are warriors
Looking for a rite of passage
They are young lions
Enchanted by the sound of their roar
They are diamonds
Treated like worthless stones
They are rivers
With nowhere to run
They are dreams unfulfilled
Desires buried in the remains
Of an abandoned soul
They are the beauty of Spring
Blinded by the snow storms of winter
Soon they will see their beauty
Their strength. Their love
And like the rivers flow into the sea
They will Unite as one
Then our voice will be more powerful than a gun
And when we speak
We’ll get things done
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8. |
Soul Reflection
05:47
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(Background/Intro Vocal):
Wind it up lose control
Let your body feel your
Soul
A red velvet tapestry
Of where we are
Or where we should be
The rhythm of who we are
Who we want to see
Ourselves
As
In our soul like the
Vibration of an
Internal meter
Guiding us through life
Live stand and lay
And lie
So we lie to ourselves
In our dances
And in our walks
We lie to ourselves
In our smiles
And in our
Talks
And today's yesterdays are the
Same
Like the hamster
We spin
On the continuous
Wheel of the anti boogie
The soul reflection
The mirror of
What we need to be
But yet it’s us
Right there in
Afro conk
Braids
Sheen styles of smiles
So look within
Yourselves
Ladies and gentlemen
And tie up
Your sneakers
And dance to this rhythm
Right now
Soul reflection
Wind it up
Let your body feel
And you will be alright
Wind it up lose control
Let your body feel your
Soul
The last poets in the house
Umar Recites:
Abiodun recites:
Stepping into tomorrow
Surrounded by the visions of today
Be the mirror of your soul
Look inside the core
Of your existence
Smell the roses
You planted years ago
Wash in the sweat
Of your labor
And breathe the funk
Of your lust
Be like a bird
Fly above the ruins
Of your mistakes
Dance away from the demons
Who try to box you in
Let your love be the key
To your freedom
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9. |
Don't Know What I'd Do
05:02
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Don’t know what I’d without you woman
You make the sun rise every morning
You and your sister moon
Help me make it through the night
I’m never lonely
Knowing you’re there
You make everything alright
Your love has made me stronger
My feelings last much longer
Than just a moment
Even when you’re gone
I feel you all around me
The things we do
The food we share
Nourishes my soul
And battles my fears
Don’t know what I’d do
Without you woman
You’re my spring water fountain
Giving me strength to climb the mountain
Washing my soul
With your refreshing touch
In this world I need you so much
You be my flower
I’ll be your tree
You’ll last year round
And I’ll protect you and me
Don’t know what I’d do
Without you woman
What is the sun without the moon
What is a bowl without a spoon
What is fire without air
How could I live if you’re not there
Don’t know what I’d do
If I didn’t have you
My life would be blue
And my smile would not be true
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10. |
Personal Things
07:04
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Time in becomes time out. Group anxieties become personal doubt. Expressing ourselves in dot dots and dashes. Pure cocaine and false eyelashes. Living inside worlds that seem to lie. Living inside excuses that pass us by. Living inside loneliness becomes a high. Living gets mixed up with wanting to die. A daily question of going insane while tormenting one another trying to ease the strain. Dreaming of tomorrows we’d like to know. Repressing our thoughts while trying to grow. The heart and soul are not involved. Idle chatter becomes reality while problems go unsolved. Prearranged. Prefabricated and preconditioned. We’re baptized, advertised and posthumously mentioned. Weaned and groomed for the glory of applause. Living off the mercy of unwritten laws. Shell shocked patrons making peace with God, while admiring the acrobatics of a junky’s nod. Turned into robots through the power of suggestion. We seek an answer and become the question. Afraid we might die before we live. Blessed with life but then afraid to give. We want to be amorous, glamorous and larger than life. Our cheap illusions become high priced strife. Losing ourselves in times of despair. Becoming self defeatists of unusual flair. We rush toward the beginning that might be the end. We sit in the darkness and try to pretend. Pointing fingers while our insides bleed. Committing suicide to fulfill a need. Highly intelligent in a very low way. We speak of existing but have nothing to say. We touch religion and make it seem like hell. But then we touch unholy dreams and wish them well. Faith is replaced with apathy and grief. Indifference is made acceptable and then a belief. Our left eyes all glitter while our right are blind. We submit to this madness and hope it is kind. Distraught women seeking compassion while turning tricks in high Roman fashion. Finding love at the expense of losing their cool. Looking for happiness but finding a fool. Their moments of trust become deceitful charms. One night stands in strangers’ arms. Carousing with disaster in very high places while cutting off noses to spite their faces. While the men play games of power and glory. Tattered remnants of an old war story. Outside themselves inside their heads, top secret discussions on waterbeds. Men without neither rhyme nor reason. Lost in the depths of mental treason. Abstract victims of the American dream. Victims of a disguised but well planned scheme, Victims of a subtle but dangerous game. Rugged individualism with a psychotic name. We confuse the normal and exort the extreme. We make war a reality and call peace a dream. American contradictions in Black and White. We illuminate contradiction and call in the lights. America provides you with fortune and fame. While stealing your soul for its own acclaim. With the English language at its command. It perpetuates illusion throughout the land. Running big games in tiny print, before you’ve got it, it’s already spent. Making sacrificial lambs of the Middle Class. Indulging in rhetoric with its head up it lulls you to sleep with the six o’clock news and then wakes you up and spoon feeds you the blues. But from the darkness of ourselves we can find a brighter day. Understanding and truth must show the way. To understand that every man’s color will not be his heart. To go inside yourself is where it must start. To learn to be considerate. To learn to be humane. To learn to use power and not become vain. To understand you can be strong and not crude. You can be outspoken and not be rude. To revile the tyrant. To protect the weak. To insure the innocent their right to be meek. To look on the sea and understand its motion. To understand tenderness and give it devotion. To understand courtesy and to make it a pact, to understand what love is… and make it a fact! Because we all must struggle. We all must try. Because somewhere in the future we all must die. But to leave a legacy that will long unfurl. That ours too was a struggle for a better World.
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11. |
Love
07:44
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Loving kisses and loving sighs. To have love’s pleasure bring tears to my eyes. Love at first sight is so very rare. Love may come late but it always comes fair. Tears that humble. Tears that smile. Tears that comfort and then beguile. Where are the drugs? Where is the sex? Where is the pleasure when there’s nothing next? Some love to love. Some love to hate. Some find love but then it’s too late… Games and lies where love should be. Someone does it to you and then you do it to me. Perversions, distortions inside the head. When illusion dictates love is dead. Love is not paranoia, love in not insecure. When a man becomes a friend is when a women becomes sure. Love in the touch of a woman’s hand, the respect for that touch is what makes a man. The thought of love on its way to you. The anticipation of what to do. That funny little feeling that comes inside. Emotions run wild but then try to hide. Is she coming or is she not. Affection needs tenderness and they both need a lot. Why is it so hard to be at ease. Why can’t I be humble and just try to please. Selfish desires that lead into doubt. Sacrifice brings joy but love brings you out. Soft morning clouds rush to cover the Moon, like an orgasm with a future that comes too soon. So when the thought of quitting begins to lose your mind, put love before pain and leave the sorrow behind.
One night I was truly seeking, I was standing inside the rain. As love passed by it whispered, time to leave the pain. I’m here whenever you need me, I am the beckoning call. I can be your rise to glory or the Madness before the fall. I cried out, Love what do you want from me? You’ve got to tell me now. Love just smiled and answered, must I also tell you how. To find that love again, the love you needed most, The only friend you had when everyone was playing ghost. Two star-crossed lovers caught up in that infamous strain. Love becomes the struggle that tries to keep them sane. In the glorious midst of nature, they try reaching out one night. She learns how to kiss the darkness, he learns how to set his sight, Love becomes the morning that shines so radiant and bright, it becomes the hope and promise that once was a lonely night. Where is that true beginning? Where has it all gone? Why has love become a memory that just sadly lingers on.
Hard laughter disguising softer fears. Love becomes entangled while deception cheers. Love that moment you can’t understand. It’s when love is asking for a helping hand. Intelligence is vital, love takes reason. Passion without wisdom is romantic treason. Love is the rain that greens the leaves, it’s the part of death that never grieves. The love of money cane become the love of greed. The love of denial can become the love of need. Love is a women to deep in thought. A moment so precious it can’t be bought. That first kiss will always remain the same, if not in principle at least in name. Love is exciting. Love is bold. Love grows gracefully but never grows old. Love is being alone but never lonely. It’s your truly and yours only. It’s when you think you should but you know you won’t. It’s when they think you’re convinced but then you don’t. Love plus patience can become understanding. When love becomes too promiscuous it becomes too demanding. Waiting on love can become the love of time. Being impatient with love can lead to serious crime. Love is to be considerate. Love is to be kind. It’s a wise old gesture from a childish mind. To never take advantage. To never accuse. To never mistrust. To never abuse. Love is to be honored. Love is to be shared. Love is to be tried but never dared. Love is to desire. Love is to yearn. To be able to give and ask for nothing in return. And then to be able to speak words so true, I love you… and I love you too!
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12. |
Juju Jimi
06:08
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An easy Sunrise precedes a touch of Madness. Touching the miracles. Touching the sleep. Touching the sound. Lingering lyrics falling graciously upon tear filled eyelids. Foot pedal and sly smile all moving in the same direction, the same rhythm, the same motion of Congo Square and primitive string instruments defying the burdens of slavery. Little Richard and Otis Redding and Sam Cooke and James Brown all saw and felt the passion of this genius of rare humility trying to get out to Sea. The laughter of idiots bleeding in his ears. The Mother Nile pleases in more ways than one. The Music in his stride has put his demons to sleep, he hopes. A White mist encircles the innocence of his Harlem Baptism. The Village calls. London beckons. So kind. So warm. So devouring… Ju Ju Jimi. Jimi. Jimi. Ju Ju Ju ju. Jimi… Ju Ju Ju Ju Jimmi Ju Ju. Yes! He was the Voo Doo child this is where he lived this is where he thrived. In the frayed and fragile wires connected to dangling dimly lit neon signs unconsciously flickering one last tribute to a Miles David solo over rain drenched vomit from the bowels of broken promises and dreams deferred. He kept turning on the Rhythm and blues. They kept trying to turn it off. The loneliness of trusted friends dropping your name carelessly upon the Wind. Staring into the reflections of Jimi God!... Jimi Prophet! Jimi visionary of pointless sights… Pointless reasons… Pointless memories… teetering and rotting Roman columns peeking through lively Magnolia Trees whispering Charlie Patton. Son House. And the spirit of Robert Johnson and his serpentine wailing of the Mississippi blues bent over Sunscorched Morning abandoned by god and devil inside your mind… your sound… Your Music… creating art forms faster than the speed of deceit. Where is the deception Jimi? What does it look like? What land does it frequent? What fragrance does it indulge in? What flower does it wear in its lapel? Where is the deception Jimi? Ooooh say can you see… By the dawns early light…And the rockets red flare. The bombs bursting in air. And the MACHINE… Guns Jimi. And the MACHINE… Guns Jimi. And the MACHINE… Guns Jimi. And the guns. And the guns. And the guns. And the violence of charred and burning flesh of children amusing themselves in the shadows of drunken and addicted stupors you climb stairs to find yourself in their despair. No more lust! No more lust! No more lurid decisions and business contracts in the thrusts of darkened rooms and phony orgasms of pretending to be you… are the FOXY LADY and I am the WILD THING will you please take your loneliness out of me. I’m tired of playing this game. He kept turning on the Rhythm and blues. They kept trying to turn in off. One night I danced with the real Atlanta in a Juke joint on the Northside. My Henessy took her Red Bull to new heights in the music of the Saints and to a BAND OF GYPSIES. There is a dance that the Poet dances. In the eyes… In the eyes of demons. In the eyes of children soothe his soul with kind gestures and beaming smiles they release their dreams to his words. They trust his jagged edges and sharp turns into funeral dirges and poetry slams for control freaks on the other side of pop culture there is a disease that festers on the pitter patter of busy feet of drug boys running through their night visions and day dreams bedazzled by slight of hands scribbling on jail house walls in small letters and close encounters with death and their illusions of power being reduced to its most common denominator. Where is the deception Jimi? What does it look like? What land does it frequent? What fragrance does it indulge in? What flower does it wear in its lapel? Where is the deception Jimi? No Jimi. No!... Don’t look back. Don’t look back Jimi. Be careful. Watchout! Watchout! Don’t Jimi! Don’t Jimi!... Don’t look back. NO… NO… NO… Keep going forward. Don’t look back. Please… don’t look back Jimi… No Jimi. No Jimi. No… No… It’s too late! Here comes that second glance. Here comes that act of denial. And the guitars on fire. And the static from the ELECTRIC LADY. No Jimi.
Don't look back. Here comes their entourages of schizophrenia. Here comes their depression. Their heavy handed Baroque counterpoints. And the fingers... crisscrossing, freefalling and tip toeing between the forces of good and evil. Ju ju ju ju jimi jimi juju Back to the Forest Jimi back to the Forest. Juju jimi
juju juju Back to where the Twin Rivers meet. Juju Jimi jimi jimi juju Back to the healing jimi jimi ju juju Back to the way. Back to the way. Our way. Juju juju Jimi jimi jimi juju juju juju Jimi Are you experienced jimi are you experienced jimi Are you experienced!....Purple haze are in my brain... losing self to lose this pain. Embracing the truth and wanting to fly.. Scuse... me beauty while I kiss your
SKY!....
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13. |
Rain Of Terror
08:52
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America is a terrorist
Killing the natives of the land
Killing and stealing
Have always been apart of America’s master plan
To control the earth and everything on it
America’s a terrorist
Killing the buffalo that roam the plains
Killing and slaughtering animals was turned into a game
Giving blankets contaminated with small pox
To the natives who were here
The beginning of germ warfare
The beginning of white fear
No respect for the land the trees or the air we breathe
And Christianity was an excuse
To bring others to their knees
America’s a terrorist with a slave system in place
To take away the humanity of a darker race
Put people in chains
Then beat them with whips
Made them give up their names
Those who survived the slave ships
America’s a terrorist
Chewing tobacco and eating swine
Being mean and nasty to those who treated him kind
Take a pregnant Black woman
Cut her belly open and let the fetus fall out
Stomp the baby in the ground
To instill fear is what that was all about
Gang up on a Black man
Hang him from a tree
Cut him down then set him on fire
For everyone to see
America’s a terrorist
With a Howdy Doody grin
Using the bible to keep others in check
While America commits all the sin
Thou shall not kill
That’s not part of the American dream
Because to kill is a thrill
They love to show on your TV screen
Romance the gun just for fun
Drop a bomb just for charm
This is the American way
And all of this talk about equality justice and peace
Spewing out of the mouths of theses governmental beast
But every time Blacks tried to fine a way to do for self
American terrorist weren’t having it
And fear is all Black folks felt
Rosewood was a town where Blacks tried hard to thrive
White folks burned it down and many Blacks lost their lives
Now there was town in Oklahoma called Black Wall Street
Blacks had homes a bank lots of money
And stood strong on their own two feet
But now you see the Whites near by were jealous
And just couldn’t stand seeing Blacks do so well
So they drop not one but two bombs on the town
And created a living hell
America’s a terrorist
Feeding off racism and greed
Not caring not sharing
But enjoying watching people bleed
Every time Jack Johnson fought and beat a White boy in the ring
White mobs would kill Blacks at random
Because a Black man was boxing’s king
And all the wars we fought
To try to win respect at home
But when the war was over Blacks where never treated like they belong
But rather the subjects of experiments
At Tuskegee and other places
For over four hundred years
Blacks have lived in fears of the vicious cruelty of the racist
Tried to march for justice
And the civil right to be treated fair
Attacked by dogs and fire hoses
Beaten by police
Forced to live a life of total despair
Bombed a church in Birmingham
While the children were in Sunday school
Took the lives of four little girls
Yes this terrorist was just that cruel
American terrorism is like a virus
That’s home grown and spreads across the planet too
Selling guns and chemical weapons
Gift wrapped in red white and blue
Soldiers boys selling guns
For hard drugs in exchange
It should be obvious by now that this country is deranged
Yet we stand and pledge allegiance
To a flag that brings lots of grief
And singing that war song every day
Is Americas only belief
America’s a terrorist
And no one wants to admit
Pointing the finger at others is the ironic part of it
Dropped a bomb in Philadelphia
To wipe out an organization named MOVE
Killed unarmed women and children
Because the police had something to prove
And all the Black Panthers trying to help their community
Wiped out by the FBI for trying to create Black unity
Put drugs in the hood
Set folks up for no good
Kept unemployment high
Education is laced with lies
Turned the people against each other
Made money more sacred than your mother
Caused an avalanche of grief
By trigger happy police
Locked the Black man up in jail
Made him think he was born to fail
And no place are you safe
If you have a darker face
Henry Dumas, Amadou Diallo Michael Griffin Yusef Hawkins Anthony Baez
Clifford Glover, James Bird just to name a few
died at the hands of American terrorist
No terrorism here ain’t nothing new
Now AIDS has become an epidemic
All over the world where Black people live
An evil virus created by mad scientist
For people who only have love to give
The CIA The FBI the Michigan militia the KKK
And the police from coast to coast
Are the real American terrorist
And the government is the host
So now America is ready to engage in world war 111
Because what goes around has come around
But you can’t kill what you can’t see
Abiodun (after 9-11)
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14. |
Toxic Times
03:54
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THESE ARE TOXIC TIMES
SHROUDED BY A VAIL OF CHEMICAL WASTE
WE ARE BUYING WATER TO STAY ALIVE
AIR WILL BE SOLD IN CONTAINERS VERY SOON
AND IT WON’T BE FRESH
DEVILS ARE STANDING BEHIND THE PULPIT
PREACHING THE GOSPEL OF SINNERS
INTEGRITY IS AN UNWANTED STRANGER
IN OUR MIDST
CONVERSATIONS HAVE BECOME
A TEXT OR A TWEET
THE NEWS IS THE BLUES
ADVERTISING PAIN AND MISFORTUNE
EVEN WHEN THE FORECAST IS SUNNY
IT’S STILL A CLOUDY DAY
EVEN THOUGH THE TEMPERATURE RISES
THERE’S STILL A CHILL IN THE AIR
THESE ARE TOXIC TIMES
BLACK GIRLS ARE DISAPPEARING
NO ONE KNOWS WHERE TO SEARCH
BLACK BOYS ARE BEING SHOT DOWN
PROTESTERS ARE BEING LOCKED UP
SEX HAS BECOME A PERVERSION
NOT EVEN A DOG WOULD PERFORM
CHILDREN ARE BEING MOLESTED
ELDERS ARE BEING EXECUTED
DISEASES ARE BEING DEVELOPED IN LABORATORIES
PUBLIC SCHOOLS ARE PRISONS
FOR A CREATIVE MIND
A HEALER IS AN ENEMY OF THE STATE
SICKNESS IS PROFITABLE
OUTPATIENTS ROAM THE STREETS
HOME GROWN TERRORISTS
SHOOT AND STAB PEOPLE AT WILL
AND SOMETIMES BLOW THINGS UP
THESE ARE TOXIC TIMES
THE WHITE HOUSE HAS BECOME A CIRCUS TENT
A CLOWN IS IN CHARGE
MASTURBATING IN PUBLIC
MOTHER NATURE IS UPSET
HURLING TORNADOES AND HARRICANES
AT THE PEOPLE AND THE LAND
FLATTENING THEIR HOUSES
FLOODING THEIR TOWNS
THESE ARE TOXIC TIMES
THEY SAY THERE’S A GLOBAL WARMING
THE HOMES OF THE POLAR BEARS ARE MELTING
THE WEATHER IS WACKY
NO RHYME OR REASON
YOU CAN HARDLY TELL THE SEASON
FIRES ACROSS AMERICA ARE RAGING
TREES AND HOUSES ARE BLAZING
THE SMELL OF DEATH IS IN THE AIR
SOLDIERS ARE FIGHTING A GHOST
CHILDREN ARE DYING FROM STARVATION
THE RICH GET RICHER IS STILL THE SITUATION
THERE IS REALLY ONLY ONE SOLUTION
IT’S TIME FOR A COMPLETE REVOLUTION
PUT YOUR MIND BODY AND SOUL IN ORDER
THAT’S THE ONLY WAY TO STOP THIS SLAUGHTER
ABIODUN 4-9-17
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The Last Poets New York, New York
This Wind You Hear Is The Birth Of Memory. When The Moment Hatches In Time’s Womb, There Will Be No Art Talk. The Only Poem You Will Hear Will Be The Spear Point Pivoted Into The Punctured Marrow Of The Villain, And The Timeless Native Son Dancing Like Crazy To Retrieved Rhythms Of Desire Faded Into Memory. Therefore, We Are The Last Poets Of The World. ... more
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