One Love Karma ...

There's war going on outside no man's safe/I too youngin' was cut down in the prime of my imagination & violently mentored to succumb to practicality/publicly transferred from the Nebuchadnezzar to Captain the Ezekiel over the event horizon/yep that's us/flying the miracle wheel smoked out at the wheel high in the middle of the sky/we watched them posse up to cut down strength & gouge out eyes like she was Delilah to my Samson/all because a clear look into my Soul'll get you aroused like seven bare naked ladies/I remember vividly how them snakes hissed at me but they were too blind to see I was 45,000 miles away from home/just a Hip Hop buddah monk coloring blues in the hood/sonin’ them young G's like my name was JC Williams/maybe a muthafucka might be safer walking the block shaped like a 'S'/can't rock a vest but could easily be this month's star bullet collector/minus the spotlight in ya vestibule don't grab your wallet or your testicles/fuck who you are when we snatch your manhood & dignity/whether it be PIG or your friendly neighbor hood-ass enemy/because everyday it's 96 degrees in the shade stuck to the wall naming shit like I'm Adam/thank God I still got the pen but ya'll don't hear me though/self-inflicted images of preg Jenny's, seeds in back seats on star trek runs & 40 yard dashes from Jake & the Fat Man/all before I hid out on Pastor Fast Talk for More Bucks Caddy/pulpit or the corner them niggaz men-tal's the same/never forget though corner boys pump project heat/traded my post as ignorant light post ornament for the mirage of my very own puppet regime/now every sentence is a penance asking the Father to forgive both sins/I live it write it down then watch it blow up/you know who I am/you read about my life every night/M

Allow Me to Reintroduce Myself …

While hazy greenery infiltrates my bloodstream/I see/plastic heart minions birthed from unchecked passions of an Ancient Harlot making moves in the name of the blood stained banner of Jesus/young broads with bodies built to lust for/C cup titties, honey-dipped thick, brown & round/graffiti covered vaginal tragedies long before the age of 21/yeh, I know, I be puffing a lot/as I live & breathe we’ve gone from/ez rock & base to pumping easy rocks from base giving birth to a new type of nigga/spitting banana clips like a jungle hungry gorilla/the lust for paper will lead to/no hesitation in the disrespectful & brutal pursuit of respectability/please put down the pen & slowly back away/because without warning or delay you’ll be blown to spastic from the kick back attached to the ass whipping of my verbal spit tactics/perpetually with my board in the shop/chopped from the frequent-high-flyer- mileage/like a decept I can transform from/cere-bral to bru-tal/producing 2 twin jet packs, sumari inspired helicopter choppaz & a rubber griped 9/supreme writer I'm a bitter of myself none other/when I twist a hot verse I'm biggin’ up my culture/biggin’ up my music birthed flow conduit/you ass salty, hatin' cuz my spit is foolish/so them rings and things you sing about bring em out/it's hard to yell when tha bar-rels in your mouth/Biggie!

If it Wasn't for The Bronx ...

Under the ever watchful eyes of new murals of Christopher Rios I've seen my peoples use EBT cards for mint balls on they way to the Methadone program/while Garcia y Vega remains my personal Melrose corner store devotion/sometimes it's like walking past the Vivero when 2nd floor neighbor stays having the hallway smelling like ham hocks, lima beans & Monkey ass/which keeps the mood sometimes shitty like the sidewalks on Stratford/the wrong look might get you stuck like a wanted poster on Soundview & Morrison/they say I'm a classic like Mill Brook & Mitchell rooftops or tenement hallways on 135th & St. Ann's/got a spit game championship caliber 161st & River Ave/Ok/but why is Kurtis Blow's walk a fame block like a semi dead end/Rock Steady & Dr. Ruth on the same block/Hmmm/they stay fucking Hip Hop/get it/I'm reminded how hood my hood is every time I'm startled by a white resident/Boro certified like the Bx 41, 15, 21, 4 & the 5 trains/graffiti covered landscapes inspire my youngest to catch upski's all over our crib's wall/you'd think I lived on Beat Street/Hip Hop DNA like Cedar Park & Sedgwick Ave/deep memory like the old Mcombs ball courts where pops blew buddah bless in my stroller's face/you can still catch me in the hood like Calino & Barnes living 3 blocks from my father's sister & not knowing till the funeral/spitting back to back 4's like it's a Red Sox's wrap around series/tune in/catch me at the Armory in Piper's Pit with the championship belt across my left shoulder talking maaaad shit ...

CT, NJ, Harlem, Q-Boro, LES, BX ...

Figured out I went the wrong route but now I'm back/alive on arrival/which simply means my pen game is hella mean/every time I spit a round I drop a pound leaving my metaphysical frame hella lean/that kind of shit makes me a Lion in the hood/with enough Grace to extend Love to the Lambs of the hood/converting raw materials into verbal gems/dumping ammunition like Popeye chewing bullets after a can of spinach/a peak into my imagination is like a Soul Asylum/Pop's shot dope, Mom's carried scriptures in a flask/thank God I got off at the Gateway/hood holocaust survivor/too many years & countin'/but me no slack a minute till this dark path of flat pockets is finished/ain't shit to me I bear my soul on page/in gladiator mode soon to release snap shots of the story on stage/could give a thousand explanations but truth be told I simply stayed way too long/in the title trace the trajectory of all the places I've lived/easy to see I was born to be free/my life is a mosaic of East Coast hardships dipped in luxury/not yet attained super stardom & real nigga quotes/story of my life in 22 bars/God Damn I'm dope ...

February 31st ...

Would be the exact date I'm fuckwitable/not shooting to kill just trying to maim so please remember my face every time you feel the pain/some words you wanna make vanish cuz of the violent threats you made/tried to bury a nigga kid you played like that high top fade/bitter lonely bitches still trying to battle but I see none/this ain't for you though/it's really a special middle finger to the internet gangsta trying to talk tough but count gum stuck to the sidewalk when I see you/the flock flies together so your seed's on probably her fourth Daddy/I'm pretty sure your fast ass never cracked the Tortoise and the Hare/so I'll spit it like the Cliffs and you can walk it out from there/don't play yourself/you know you love my style/closet full of bad decisions because I ain't return your smile in '94/would pull your file but it ain't that serious just wanna thank you for more wood to the fire/didn't think I'd see you kicking ya lil discrete shit tryin' to keep it a secret/you a fish, a bird & a worm/listen you East Broadway lame play ya self outta position and mention my name/I know what's what & I'll see all ya'll later/and still be just as nice & polite greet you with a smile throw up them deuces and shout out/hi hater ...

Ballad of a Broke Nigga ...

What's good cold world/it's your main nigga M/live from my hood to whichever hood you in/didn't plan to be a Vet but it must of been on the list/how do you explain pushing 40 still on the wrong side of the tracks with lean pockets & regular greens/caged up and ain't none of 'em fam/just hollow souls who'll stick your shit to the glass like Stevie Franchise/scheming tacatos kicking knowledge to wild ass seeds on the bus/plus them Cuban Linx niggaz quoting Nas, Mobb Deep & Wu/this is the life I chose or maybe it's just the life that chose me/phantom-like, black listed & part time black hearted/a brand new nigga or faded memory if you ask what's left of my peers/but shots follow the targets so I'll never have to chase ya'll/not sure what people know about out there but truth of the matter is shit's fucked up here/still plotting with mouse trap blueprints on how to snatch the cheese/wasted years due to fear stuck in a dead end career/didn't wanna make a scene but I had to get free/overlord in my kingdom of poverty belly of the beast living less than two blocks from Jake/Dragon red eyes that cry blood so let's celebrate and smoke an eighth of that potent shit/cuz we could trade places gettin' lifted in the staircases'/summer of '95 that was my favorite shit/inspect ya darts like I'm the New Wu dart inspector/God forbid I relapse to help them pulpit niggaz go and peddle they crack/deep inside my Soul swims the spirit of Leviathan/extended Grace to many who simply reciprocated with hate, ambivalence & fear/while I'm commissioned to check the condition of my battered, broken & suddenly bipolar heart/when the fridge & cupboards echo my demons of murder form a choir of screaming echo's singing fuck them, fuck that/trying to figure out why every extension of embrace is met again with silent echo's/still I write like the next word might change my life …

Walk wit me, don't run ...

From streets where kids play under hanging wire like it ain't there & throw dirty foam blocks at each other for fun/where future hood enforcers roll stacked deep/packed like rats back to back under a barrage of maternal annihilation & systematic paternal invisibility/a breading ground for fraternal homicide/a sorority of pussy & suicide
on the installment plan/like muthafuckaz is supposed to go from stroller to cell block/like the local delivery guy telling me Jigga's a sell out cuz he ain't put a gang of green in the hand of every weak non MC whack bar tossing nigga from the hood/like Hip Hop is the new Lotto-Welfare/lil cousin I'm tryin' to learn ya somethin'/take you down into the post locked on to the blocks wit it/ don't ever let ya' self get caught outta position on these streets/you know niggaz love chicken wings/Bob Backlund/for the convenience of cost your man'll bicycle the well cooked beef/seeds planted to produce the broccoli/ohhhh Rev ain't right they whole church ain't right/ya'll know we all saw what we said we saw when we told ya'll we saw it/but these fat cats is too gassed up on the GodFather & mini Jesus comparisons to cop to it/damn shame/niggaz bleed just like us/putting 'em on a pedestal denying intuition when you listen/BX NY nigga it is what it is/Chef told me niggaz die faster than a pastor fucks/they cake game tight on every corner you could even swing the EBT card like a spiritual bodega/don't mind me/certified OG CT born cursin’ & crusin' in a catatonic state/mind still fractured from code speak & double talk/high on a Hill like Cypress cuz Stoned is the Way of the Walked ...

Poinsettias on the Pulpit [Expanded Version]

Metaphorically speaking, I went from pitching on the corner to fucking with the heavyweight connect but it's more like Cutty's journey to find Dennis/and yeah, just like moms I've washed clothes in the sink on Sunday before school/that shit might not have been new at the moment but it was always brand new to me/so I took to hanging in lots & on corners with niggaz who hate cuz it's a chance to breathe & breathe for a chance to hate/flash forward/the fact that every tabloid said she smoked crack never mattered when her voice boomed Holiday praise to the infant King for Sunday tithes & offerings/No! She can't sing in the play about His birth. She had sex. And besides if we let her, other kids will have sex and want to sing too. Can't you see? We have Poinsettias on the Pulpit/huffing & puffing like she's the big bad wolf/Bitch! Carnivorous, throwing shade towards every brownstone chick doing time in the hood/doubling down on the eye candy burden/self confidence & self-esteem killer, black face wearer, self-hate promoter/beat biter, dope style taker, tell you to your face, you ain't nothing but a faker/meanwhile I'm giving all praises due like Malcolm to Elijah Muhammad/hated by the shallow shadows for an effortless flash of a few soul deep scars/took a few chances before I spilled a few bars/blowin' down maaad trees like a muthafuckin' hurricane/call me/M breath EZ/figured I'd tell the story of how 7 shots missed me

Poinsettias on the Pulpit ...

The fact that every tabloid said she smoked crack never mattered when her voice boomed Holiday praise to the infant King for Sunday tithes & offerings.

No! She can't sing in the play about His birth, she had sex. And besides if we let her, other kids will have sex and then want to sing too. Don't you see, we have Poinsettias on the Pulpit.

Hooked Like Hope ...

Cuz everyone of ya'll know no matter how smart, fine or on the grind
about his master plan and shit/don't none of ya'll want a broke ass nigga who's on the grind & ain't got shit/so I broke it down then called a favor to see if the hook up would still cook up/bagged it up too close to distrust/fell deep into concentration and inhaled the
earth's creation to clutch the figures my ego still lust-ed/stamped it for slaughter and pitched on the fiend filled block/a conjurer of word pat-ter-rens/could easily find some words to assign for rhythm & tone/but then you'd never see this as more than just a poem/it's the pain, fear & rejection ten deep in my dome, it's the procrastination
practice that kept my black ass far away from the throne/I figure why carry it wit me when I can spit it & shine/from the classic green North Face like a 5 year bid to/the best advice from a short life like BIG's/living life without fear, putting 4 krts in my Baby Girl's ear/Tell me your version and I'll work to believe but DAMAGED GOODS is
stamped prominently across my packaging/won't always be locked behind this self-imposed door/chambers are dark & ugly psychological affects on the terminal poor so we'll see what type of monster this cheddar breed for sure/acid dipped razor sharp words like hate saw the fork in the road went back & smoked a L /cuz I sling bars that get ya hooked like Hope/insensitivity at inception left me on the bench way past crunch time shooting prayers for an extra frame/just wanted to make 'em clap for this like Jesus, keep it real like Big Baby & prove to the Stained Glass Gestopo they could never ever stop me/constant evolution & perpetual motion all while perpetually blunted

Broken English Soufflé

Supremely decorated, part-time hated most faded/become a witness to life nostalgia reupholstered & non carbonated/the dude your pops warned you about mixed with the man your moms wants you to marry /adjectives & verbs my special gift to reverse the curse of life lived in neutral reverse/still hadn't grown up enough yet, learned enough yet or confronted the scars deep within my soul enough yet/just in the pews with gospel flavored candy ears where the Locus & Canker worm chewed me through/now I stay/ bent leaned back like rickshaws stomach full of growls like, fuck you nigga/everybody got they vice, mine is weed & the pen/learned at Pop Dukes knee the schemes to contemplate a veer from the razor sharp teeth of the Pen/though I could never smoke enough to fill the holes in my development/spit knowledge on project rooftops, beat boxed in tenement hallways and stumbled over punch lines in many corner store ciphers/Divine Sinner, yeah that's me, during the come up I make my home in the corruption capital of NYC/where State Senator & son throw tax payer’s paper like Puff on the boat in Hypnotize/CT born but I rep LES to my B Boy stop, till my mind don't plot, which means my casket, dropped

Countin' Backwards 2010 ...

Yesterday, while I walked down 5th Avenue this beauty, so rare walked past my ipod induced daydream but when I turned to see if she, was you, she vanished
(Ten)
I broke my neck to reclaim my unspoken desire and stumbled into a cloud of last Thursday’s fantasy
(Nine)
I saw rice and white dresses, picture bulbs flashed and our sister’s cried, friends laughed and well-wishers wished us well, our first dance and a champagne toast fit for two people blissfully in love
(Eight)
A subtle shove from a frenzied commuter invited me back to reality in the City’s busy streets but my imagination declined to take reality seriously, and I drifted into, stories of your busy day while on our couch in sweats, your pony tailed hair and face radiant from its natural beauty
(Seven)
The melodic sounds of your laugh while we surfed the net for vacation packages, planned dinner parties and decided what we’d do for the weekend, I know you’re not perfect, please don’t get me wrong but shit, I’d …
(Six)
Spend my life loving your wounds, bathing your soul and adoring your body but I might be speeding just a bit
(Five)
Your looks a gift from God but I’m infatuated with your heart,
just then a cabbie swerved, an interruption to my delusional journey before I witnessed your glow when you carried our baby, could there be a more beautiful, delicate pregnant woman?
(Four)
Birthday parties, sleepovers, family trips and school meetings, this ain’t about the here and now, some passé physical attraction, I’m talking soul mates, soul connections and soul survivors 10 year anniversaries and Hawaiian vacations
(Three)
To my surprise I’ve been standing on this street corner for the longest because the thought of you brings all possibilities to life
(Two)
That’s when I noticed that she, was not you, at all, not even close and I’m left with so much to say and only myself to tell
(One)

reworked w/no name yet ...

Verbally back at it with tele-spaz-matic tactics/heavy like metal jackets and effortlessly charismatic/many who thought they doubted know really they saw it coming/all good cousin/dough always cakes when slow burning in the oven/now let me begin by asking you to shut the fuck up/gliding on crystal eye drops draped in grassy green bon fires/I spit dope like the smack my pops shot persistently penetrating with subversive culture like a rectal intruder/jumped from/assed out dirty bags to home grown wit super powered pressure lungs fashioned from steel casings/certified spliff technician and card carrying green thumb enthusiast/re canting karma dimming activities cuz I'm a nigga with an attitude and a man on a mission/a carbon dated trophy collection from verbal sound clashes bears witness to this phantom menace

Guess who?

Niggaz mad my swagy bubbled to redickle/get off my pickle you've been left behind like the rapture/ or like you failed 5th grade math pick your chin up & get outta my path/I might resort to my bullying ways/hit you wit a flying fuck tucked as I turn buckle tussle like my name was bob backland/suplex your anatomy fucking tool/join the academy/and maybe you'll be worthy of some Shepparding action/niggaz in my faction got history of gun clapping, get ya jaws to flapping you'll be yapping to the captain/wake up missing in action/Sunday they'll be asking what happen cuz his passing got me feeling that this shit could really happen/not this time but next time I'll probably name names/M.I. shitting on pussy collars from on top of the game/who shot ya?

And now, a word from our sponsor ...

Have you had the wonderful misfortune of ever meeting my nine? Whether chrome or black, plastic or rubber gripped she pines for the time when she can stand @ attention, waiting in eager anticipation, selecting standing ovations with pre assigned projectile evictions.

Now this next paragraph might makes ya laugh, when a brotha rolls a blunt and his breath smells like pure ass - ok class, 10 hip hop pts if u idee the lst paragraph

But back to the clap talk for a second, it was always my favorite helped an angry nigga feel the hate inside his ears - wondered if he had it in em when ordered to park hollows in between the ears of his peers, but that's when them other cats flashed that chrome, licked them shots, and missed my dome.
Was like 20 back then, that's when I developed the phantom, ghost like qualities back then, listened when NaS told me sleep was the cousin - so never was I sleeping again nah cousin.

Decided to grab the mic for real, back then. Burnaz captured my minds eye metaphor back then, 4 fifths, 380's, 12 Gage, & dessert ezy spitting loogies wit intention of twistin icons & leakin em wit they chest breathin' wheezy, stayed eazy nigga ... wasn't fashioned to be blastin, matriculated up the field to avoid my under achieving ass from being sent to Iraq - fuck it black - tried to forget while I smoked where I was rollin it at … That’s about the time when I met a man whose neck, ear, wrist, and pinky ring gleams with a unique gift for touching the nerve of young ghetto dreams ...

This is dedicated to bad bitches who moonlight as day time chiropractors, sexuality discreetly bubbling like espresso foam in a warm Amsterdam coffee shop. If I could figure out your name with my psychic pheromone capabilities, I'd stop my preoccupation concerning the hue of your Vicky inspired thong and bra ensemble, I respect your gangsta though, bx authentic hip hop on that first night splashed beyond recognition I peeped you zoning to Rakim's "The Punisher", instantly celebrating the location of my kismet ...

Took the ladder to success escalator style, the personal blueprint of spago blowing muthafuckaz twisted in 7 jeans, D&G eye covers, and newborn baby clean footwear, crystal clear ice skating rinks with rainbows fruitfully multiplied throughout the land

My style is sick like high school mono, when I spit that heavy shit transformational conversions opens doors to unlimited choices as vehicles for cultural revolution … While still clockin fat ass' on project chickens sportin’ 5411's blasted from the scent recoiling from the body of my buddy.

It was either the pistol, the pulpit, the mic, or the pen