Give me one minute of your time so I can force-feed you useless knowledge-
See you nodding like the dolls on your dash bobbin’ heads during stop-and-go traffic-
Doing damage-
To your chin-
Spinal cord, breast bone, hits home, lethal blows to your dome, thought flows decompose, reconstruct all your bones-
Subtle tweaks all along your visual zone and how you think-
But I’m just an assistant in assisting in separating the purity from the stink-

Just listen for a minute so I can finish what I wanted to start-
As my thought sparks a flame in your heart-
Full flight in your vein as it travels to your brain-
Maintain-
Keep composure – sew together what’s apart-
Be proud-
Grab yourself by the hair-
Wile out-
Stand yourself on the chair and shout-
Say it loud-
What the fuck is this cat up there talking bout-

But still compelling you to listen, till you feelin’ what I say-
Till you’re too sick to eat, too cynical to pray-
Can’t stomach my flow that I spew forth raw-dog, bare-back style-
Close the hospital door-
Ain’t well enough to leave-
Just stay-
For a while-
It’s forever break-time, dive inside my idle mind-
Cause the frontal lobe in my dome has grown from a devil’s playground to a hole in Satan’s soul-

Are you twitchin’ and shakin’ – dead fish out of water that I’m smellin’-
Rather F-E-A-R, exactly what I’m spellin’-
Well on the way to POST-MOR-T-E-M-
And the pain got you screamin’-
No one hears that you yellin’-
I keep handin’ heart attacks out cause no one else be sellin’-
Trying to tell you there’s no god-
Blasphemy’s the remedy-
Hypnotism is my job-

So you see why you should stay and give me my chance-
I’m the blood-dripping wire barbed up on the fence-
Ripping out your mind and selling me your self-
Is my one and only last line of defense-
Forget 1 to 10 bids and a whole life sentence-
The only thing I feel that’s worth to mention-
Is I wanna truthfully believe you when you say I make no fuckin’ sense-

They say one man’s garbage is another man’s treasure-
Now an insecure man speaks for the sake of his own pleasure-
Trying to reconfirm his existence right before they dead him-
I say one man with mic is a whole lot better-
Making it ruff like Cube or smooth like K-Dee wearing a Casmir sweater-
And if you’re in the mood, get your lady friend wetter-
Have the mentality in the room rise up to one level-
Convince my man in the leather to put down the Beretta instead of plugging up the crowd, turning glass to confetta-
So when one of my fellow poets wants to come up and do whatever-
Grease the mic with saliva-
Till he’s dehydrated lying weak on the stretcher-
Emit consciousness, truth and power, tie up mental ends and come correct, or
Spit nonsense, useless knowledge, prophesize God’s great lecture-
Fuck encouraging his ass-
I’m a make sure he gets up~