Poetry: Culture Killer
Come through like the spirit of Nat Turner burner pointed at the masters head
An' lick two shots for Tupac and Big POP until the masters dead
They put our blood on the leaves and now there's blood on the sheets of the master's bed
I closed my eyes to listen to god and this is what the pastor said
You should pray for your enemies and pass him bread
Don't pass him judgment, turn the other cheek when you get slapped in public
That's corruption because we read the same chapters of it
We were slaves cursed by the same masters of it
The masses love it driven into songs of psalms
Thief on the cross nails through his heels and his palms
Spirit of God greetings of Wa-Alaikum-Salaam
My spirit is hard never mind my spirit is strong
True to my form
I was born by the river of tears where my Queen wept over my torn flesh
Chastised and broken apart
My heart grew cold; blood warm with torment but I gave you my art
Styles fluent with culture dripping with ice
Will cost me more but you'll still profit
What you want? My hair my style my dress?
What you want from her?
Her lips her thighs her ass her breasts?
What does it take for me to compose prose but my mortal soul
Gave you classics
My ingenuity gave you monuments.
What I bleed you breathe those are my accomplishments.