The Dead Emcee Scrolls (5 page)

the secret of eternity, the secret of bliss.

And the stars: the rings of Saturn; fiery Mars; all

the jet-propelled philosophies of Venus in Furs. All

the pussy you can handle from a poet that purrs.

Chillin in a furry Kangol and some suede Timbs

with spurs.

(Arches back to hiss-story. Afternoon nap-py words.)

Death creeps through the streets over programmed

beats. A rabid dog in heat on a dead end street. Oil

slicks: the only rainbows canvass gray concrete.

Shadows of skyscrapers fall when Mohammed speaks.

Corpses piled in heaps. Sores and decay. Reeks.

Placin tags on feet. A Nike Air Force fleet. Custom

Made: unique. Still in box: white sheet. Ripened

blue black sweet. White tank top, wife beat BREAK.

Hearts in two-step beat BREAK.

Dance pray work whip beat BREAK.

Neck back jump back kiss BREAK.

Now shake it off.

Consider your-self: less than, inferior to,

half man, superior to, womb man, unbearable

likeness. Consider yourself: almost, never

quite, dark skinned, lily white, black as sin,

devil's den, whiteness.

Consider your-self: outcast, criminal, unseen,

invisible, point blank, ready-cocked, trigger.

Consider yourself: hardcore, dirt poor, hustler,

BCH/whore, reverend, doctor, nigger.

Cotton corn crop wheat BREAK.

Entrails tongue pig's feet BREAK.

Neck back jump back kiss BREAK.

Now break it off.

Church of: fear and lust; hell or bust; back of

bus; scream and cuss; hold your tongue; unsung

apostle. Church of: God and Christ; men and

mice; Vincent Price; naughty nice; fat suit; white

beard; colossal.

Church of: down and low; sick and shut; born

in sin; usher strut; ten percent; short on rent;

basket. Church of: Sunday suit; hex and root;

chicken foot; dusty boot; foot stomp; hand

clap; casket.

Ashes dust kill crush BREAK.

Build up pimp strut slap BREAK.

Neck back jump back kiss BREAK.

Now clap your hands to what he's doing.

I came in the door. I said it before before.

The future's mistress is history's whore.

Ate the whole fuckin' apple, NGH, even the

core. Swallowed seed. Made her bleed. Now

she's begging for more.

Ancient Judaic law. Kosher, Crunk and hardcore.

Goat blood mark on the door. Open shut. Yom

Kippur. Now who's gonna take the weight? It's

your birthday. Take the cake.

Blow out the candles. I wait in the darkness,

like a vandal. The silhouette of SET in the

mirror on the mantle.

Fireplace is in the heart. Water places the art

'round the islands of desiring where most primitives

stalk, sacrificing their daughters. These primordial

waters carry a feminine agenda that no man ever

taught us.

True, they captured and caught us. Transported,

sold us, and bought us. Constituted and lawed us.

Distorted truths that they taught us. We rebelled

then they fought us. We conformed then they

formed us. Now y'all NGHs rhymin ‘bout

material possessions.

False idols. False gods. Revering false titles.

Peep dude with the platinum cross. He floss

bibles. Check vitals. Revivals. Father, son in

denial. Throw momma from the train and derail

every child.

Rape of a nation. Offbeat complete. Blood of

the Haitian. Diaspora. Divide to defeat. Euro

invasion.

Legs spread ‘round midnight. “Hold still, girl.

Don't fight.” Nurtured seed despite dawn's

early light.

Back to basics. Back to the streets. Jordache

and Asics. Le Tigre hoodie, fitted and neat.

Graffiti capers. The spray can vapors. Wrong

side of the track. Third rail shock treatment.

Yo I'm bringin'em back.

Unwrap the mummy. Replace his heart. Feed

him. He's hungry. Remind him of his nature.

Divine. Pictures on money. Cash in on melanin,

top of spine. He cries for mommy.

Mommy's getting raped, right now. Greco-

Roman fate, somehow. Tubman's running late,

so she plans her own escape.

She feels the music. Sign of the timeless flight

of broomsticks. Over the floor. Marital law.

The jump off movement. Movement: rhythm

and blues. Hip sways, acoustic. Wind of the

waist not want not case. Sign of improvement.

Movement: grind to unwind. The muse of

music. Even tonight, she moves despite how

dark her blues get.

Noose swings like a pendulum. Whip/crack

a/cross back, again. Simon bids his help and

then … DJs two worlds blend.

Feel the music. Son, we got you programmed

like a beat. When I press snare, Yo, guard your

grill. Press kick, you move your feet. You can't

compete. Got my hydrants parked on every

street. I'm federal, NGH. Son of Sun. Come

close and feel the heat.

I am the streets. The white lines only separate

me from me. You hydroplane in false god's

name and still crash into me. Sign and tree,

mountainside, guardrail into the sea. They

thought they stole you from my arms then

carried you to me.

Here's the key. DNA encoded in a beat.

White rocks in a vial, NGH, ain't got nuthin

on me. BCH, I'm free. Ask these editors at

MTV. Far as they know they're publishing

some new school poetry. Let it be. ‘Cause

even that will do to turn the key. Doorways

into other worlds. The truth shall set you free.

You are me. I am you. But also I am he.

Shepherd of a bastard flock that grazes in

the streets.

Feel the beat. Nod your head. Lean back. Yo,

touch your feet. Let me see you pop that

thang right there, girl, in your seat. Feel the

heat. Count this page amongst your whitest

sheets. Comfort in my every word. Slide under.

Countless sheep.

Hail Mary, Mother of God. Got the whole

host of angels shuffling in my iPod. NGHs

learned to raise their voices when I lowered

my rod. Staff of Moses. Pharaoh knows it.

Son, my word is my bond.

Tune my heart with my mind. Speak my nature.

Divine. Called this shit into existence back in '79.

With the future in my pocket. Tightly gripped

like a nine. Keep my finger on the trigger. Waitin

for the right time.

Ancient NGHs align! Path of cosmic design.

Blood of kings ‘cause Saturn's rings don't

need no diamonds to shine. Yes, the reason

for the season. Ornamented, divine. Coded

language of the mystics with my fist

in the sky.

Keep your head up. We represent the

real, my NGH. Dead up. Book of the

Dead. History bled. This NGH fed up.

Led us to despair, some into prayer,

and they won't let up until they got us

worshipping them false gods instead

of the realness.

God of the streets. My NGHs feel this. We

nod our heads and worship through beats.

Go 'head and kneel. It's the love that makes

the cipher complete. And it's displayed

through the way the bass line marries the beat.

Yesh, Yesh y'all. You don't stop. I spill

some liquid for my NGHs on the stop

clock. Then shake the hands of time. I

got him for his wristwatch. I got a second

wind and shook him, like in hopscotch.

Jumped the turnstile, turned, smiled, gestured:

hand crotch. Double-cross a motherfucker

'fore I get got.

Caught in the crossfire. Brought

over seas, you were caught in the

crossfire. Down on your knees,

you were caught in the crossfire.

Yeshua, please help us out of the

crossfire. The cross fire.

Caught in the crossfire. The KKK

had you caught in the crossfire.

Prayed every day, you were caught

in the crossfire. In Jesus name, you

were caught in the crossfire. The

cross fire.

Get up and walk, NGH. You the one

we was waitin for. Way before dem

Latin books bastardized the sacred law.

Made a NGH question. Mark of the beast:

deceased. Guess what's in-store? Wait for

it to register. Now, empty out that register, NGH.

And keep your hands in the sky. You the money

and the power. Get that green out your eye.

Oblivious. Hoodwinked back to black. These

NGHs wearing crosses. The shirts off their

back. Pay cash out your ass for that diamond

crack. Smoke rock-roll away or your money back.

Whipped and burned. NGH, you done

carried the cross. Made Milano a fan.

Black Madonna's the boss. You free.

Half the cost. Grace maze. Now you're lost.

Man-child in the mirror. The picture's getting

clearer and it's you.

I crossed that bridge in '72. JB played

the funky drummer. Now these fools playin

you. A lie preserved in stained glass doesn't

make it more true. Survey says, the little

drummer boy be drummin for you.

Newborn king. Your moms: that fat lady that

sing. His eye on the sparrow. Point blank,

through a barrel. You bad to the bone. Cancer.

Sir, your marrow. I ordered the monkey. We

back to the barrel of laughs.

These NGHs God-body tryin to be golden

calves. Five percent on the corner of pure

science and math. While the eighty-five divide

their time between dead end paths. And the ten

percent have spent their rent on wars fiery wrath.

Dead Sirius. Waitin for damned self's return

to true self. True health. True school. New book

on old shelf. I, self, lord and master. Choose one

path. Move faster.

Yeah, though I walk still talk the talk. Exorcisin

all these demons. Black board and chalk. From the

brightest constellation on land, New York. To the

origin of darkness. BREAK/POP the cork.

To all the battles fought. All the captives caught.

Lives sold and bought. Enslaved for naught.

'Cause today, we ‘bout to make this freedom a

sport. Leave your jewelry in the bleachers. Come

take the court.

Yo the banana peels are carefully placed. So keep

your shell toes carefully laced. The illest NGH got

peppered and maced. Now amplify this. Turn up

the bass. And think about it.

Picture me, lampin' in the company car. Rims

like Tibetan prayer wheels. NGH WHT? I'm

a star. I cruise the block like a feather back and

forth ‘til I land as the song in your ear or the

book in your hand. Now the whole fuckin world

'bout to know who I am.

Got your whole system up in my trunk. That ‘dog

eat dog' make my woofers bark: atomic crunk All

my trill NGHs know who be bringin da funk. Lees

and shell toes like it's Black History Month.

Son of a vortex. African roots. That chicken foot

hex. Binary star NASA can't compute. Linear

complex. It's simple. Bloodlines span from

Lalībela temples straight to chitterling minstrels.

Spin it back to the intro.

There was one. Bore witness to the rays of the

sun. Synthesized in her own image. Photo negative.

Shun. The development of Parliament. The phallic

bop gun. Thus, the mother-ship connection spawned

the birth of the drum.

Ancient drum begat drum. Kingdom go. Kingdom

come. Ancient sector of the scepter risen up to the

sun. Hidden hand of man begat patented clone of

the drum. Boom Bap strapped into a wire, tightly

coiled, and re-spun.

Trigger sound. Trigger gun. Drum machine. Machine

gun. Bodies piled. Carefully filed under beats that were

once reprogrammed to become: unplugged concert of

sun. Every ray with sample clearance. Every two begat one.

Boom Bap hard as a gun. White cross-trainers, unstrung.

Let these suckas know the cost of making Harriet run.

Let the North Star be your guiding post when turned

from the sun until knowledge reigns supreme over

nearly everyone.

Check it out now! Check me out now!

I let these MTHRFKRs know what I'm

about now. And ain't no way no one could

ever play me out now. Because I represent

the present, NGH, right now!

Check it out now! Check me out now! At the

helm of the ship. Shipping out, now! NGH us

angel dust and devout, now! Heaven high as

the sky. Never come down!