One Solution Atypical, antithesis of subliminal, political rap encoded in digital, tagged criminal for being too critical, black attacking the patriot act with analytical, methods for exposing the bullshit in their material. A new style for the racial profile, its racism American style that’s gone wild on display for Arab man woman and child(echo). This is a snapshot of America now 2000 and 3 but it aint how I thought the future would be (be). This aint the dream that Dr. King had for me, its more like, life is still segregated and war like. I thought they made separate but equal illegal but nope that shit is still as American as the bald eagle, still fucking the people, Plessy vs. Ferguson resurfacing, and ready for evil. This is just another sequel to the same game, another link in the American chain of shame Who would have thought that in the 21st century your racial identity would be a source for inequity. We need organize and get together to sever heads of oppressors that be making us settle for lesser We cant settle for less (complete echo) when there’s breath in our chest (complete echo) (x3) down up down There’s only one solution, revolution, with the working class armed in mass heading the movement. Ready to rumble, educated at the school of hard knocks and at the college of struggle. Cause freedom’s got a price tag on it with the blood of the powers that be stamped right on it. any time we want a change we have to fight for it and when we turn our back they’re quick to get a knife for it. that’s why if we want it to last we’ve got to make sure that we use a method that’s going to more than threaten they ass. How the fuck you think change happen they aint gonna give up the keys to niggas with flowers and beads, power don’t give up nothing with out a demand, it hasn’t yet and it’s not documented in any new plans, open your eyes and recognize their priority, the concentration of wealth in the hands of a (small) minority. I don’t respect their illegitimate authority so I support the power of the working class majority (x2) We cant settle for less (complete echo) when there’s (still) breath in our chest (complete echo) (x4 ) down up down up We are all/ we are all Palestinians We are all/ we are all arab-americans We are all/ we are all Iraqi citizens We are all gays / we are all women Asian Americans Latin americans /We are all African Americans / we are all working class world citizens

The red on the page is my blood, the blue that runs across it is the death of my love, and the white that remains is the battleground yet to be stained by the ink that symbolizes my pain. In other words, I write to fight to live to breathe in to deal with the shit that kicks my teeth in and this life I lead bleeds rhymes cut by lifetimes of struggling against my own mind. I’m known to rock the mic like a man slept on, pushed aside and stepped on Who crept on while niggas yawned in hours predawn and spit flames that left mics burning on lawns with the words ‘be out before dawn’ still warm sick raps induced by the klan and Exxon, cause when the son’s on it’s on, even cats with their guns drawn be drawn to raps that gun charm. Forearms - disarmed my raps snatch your snake / firearm right out your palm and expose you for the pawn you are I mean we are I mean this shit’s gone too far y’knamean put the guns down or we could start a land-war with the landlords after sundown this is my town, that’s what I’d be yelling as I start putting cracks in the landlord’s melon, you can bet I’d give that ass a good swelling, cause it seems to me that there just seems to be something right about people rebelling in the middle of the night, I delight in the sight of greedy people griped with fright, white collar birthright burned right. The winning of a new beginning grinning through ashes and firelight (hook) I spit rhymes that transform minds to guns and bust shots till the blood of the banner runs. Coming down washing our chains away Born again American emcee and deejay As far as I know brothers I know ain’t rolling in dough but we’re still nice with the flow like Bolo Yeung beating niggas hand solo till they speaking in tongues, I’ll reach in my lung and let you taste the tar where I’m from. It’s land of the unsung where even cops salute you not with hands but with 21 from guns. Like Amadou slew for being black after curfew by Jim Crow’s little boys in blue. This America my beloved but if it was on life support I’d black glove it. unplug it, pillow love it, here comes the flashback of when they lashed backs I think you get the gist of it. this is the hist that I keep in my chest deep in my chest like blood and fire inked on my chest, I was scarred by the beef between the east and the west, hand over fist companies making money off of our death. And it’s the same thing, even in these days, the more people that want a job the less that job pays but the more people that want a home the more they have to pay sounds to me like people like me get . . .screwed either way. And one day, huh, you can believe, the people will give back some of the shit that they’ve received. We’ll roll up with fists thrown up, ain’t nothing funny, and still don’t nothing get redistributed but the money. But until then I’ll organize and kick rhymes that mind bend for minds trying to redesign trends. Cause it’s a crazy situation cats are facing across the nation with out justification, laid-off from corporations, students dropping out because they can’t afford the cost of education, and we’re about to bomb another nation just so we can flex and make some money at the gas station, (and the list goes on (x?)) hook

Mic This Mic this, my voice box unlocks the padlocks on cellblocks and frees black thoughts, chalk outlines cops on blacktops that got to walk for shooting black backs that back talked. I spark the blocks I walk with talk that, brought back the ghosts of cats who fought back. This black, walks the talk and spits back, so if you’re armchair motherfucker sit back. You can’t hang with rhyme contact cause on impact I cranium crack leaving your brainstem dangling back thoughts wondering back to a time when your brain tissue wasn’t wondering down your spine. I’m Proud to be a minority in the minority of people that choose to question authority, fuck your seniority, the time is coming when ignoring me won’t be a possible mother-fucking priority (chorus) I say revo- you say -lution I got a question for yall, how can there be capitol punishment with out punishment for capitol politicians that make decisions with loop hole visions that only benefit big business’s position This sound, asphalt ground down, gritty like how life in the city be world round, callus from the malice of the land owned now by the same species that enslaves it’s own self now. Man chains man to the ground, third world sharecropping bitter earth now, Immaculate Conception turned bitter birth now in the swing of the yang in the realm of the Tao and it seems like tonight might be the right night to ignite the fight against this system that’s relentless. I - vent this so that you can know I meant this and when the song is over we can go cement this with an endless list of people that’ll enlist to pump their fist in the face of everything amiss, what’s going on something’s wrong with the system capitalism’s got us living in a prison (chorus) I say revo- you say -lution I got a question for yall, how can there be capitol punishment with out punishment for capitol politicians that make decisions with loop hole visions that only benefit big business’s position

Free Palestine I was born under an apparatus that downgraded my class status from citizen to subhuman savage, it’s hard to fathom but even harder to manage – I’m a second class citizen in the land of my origin, forced to forage in a brutal reality that’s devoid of humanity for some semblance of sanity, where truth is profanity, and in all actuality my right to life is con-sidered a travesty, we can’t even bury friends without the threat of – their military showing up to carry out their vendetta, a policy of extermination against an indigenous population that’s been fighting for emancipation – you want to end the violence? Then end the occupation – you want to see defiance? Then deny us liberation. This is Apartheid Palestine where sniper fire gets showered from Israeli watchtowers. This is for Haifa, this is for rafah, this is for gaza, this is for Balata This is for Tarek, this is for Basher, this is for Mahmoud, this is for Ta’er, This is for Fatmeh who was only 7, and Samer –shot dead at school at the age of 11. What would you do if you were under occupation, let them take your freedom or fight for liberation? Long live the freedom fighters of the intifada fighting for freedom today cause there might not be a tomorrow.(x2) Give me liberty or death, cause I’d rather go out on my feet than on my knees when I take my last breath. If you don’t get it, you don’t get it, fighting Zionist oppression doesn’t make you anti-Semitic - They say our people won’t ever be as one-, They say this fight won’t ever be done-, They say our rights won’t ever be won-, They say the wall can’t be undone-, they said that we couldn’t make it this far, I say they don’t know who we are They say a lot of things, but they only say that shit because they fear the change our organized power brings. We’ve gotta keep it together so we can resist the pressure, forever organizing to counter oppressors who endeavor to sever the main vein that helps us maintain, and stay sane in our fight to make change. Don’t let your tax dollars go to making people holler, killing of our future scholars with Apache Helicopters. Divest from this racist regime until it redeems the dreams of those it killed midstream Divest x6 from Israel, Divest x6 from Israel Divest x6 from the IDF Divest x6 and lets lay apartheid to rest. Come’on Long live the freedom fighters of the intifada fighting for freedom today cause there might not be a tomorrow.(x4) Free Free Palestine – Long Live Palestine – Long Live the Intifada – Intifada, Intifada –

Nice I spit rhymes that split time and strip minds getting in spines like strychnine when I gets mine. I’m thought criminal with cynical text, flex political with dissident sects, on concrete or tape decks when the son’s next the sun sets then son’s tongue gets the way a hungry brother’s gun gets. Ready to wet without remorse or regret, an instant source of both fear and respect, I represent the legacy of Khemet, you can’t do nothing when the son interjects except reflect on the extent to which your skills are inept. I dissect your dialect with the sharpest of intellect cause I’m heartless when I get into it. Hopelessly intricate written shit guaranteed to have you repositioning your hittin’ list because the son’s that nice and you can say this twice; I’m better than any competitor just rappin’ bout ice, slangin crack, or killing blacks in a heist. The son’s nice Hook I’m spitting lyrics in your spirit so fearless you fear it when you hear it cause you know you can’t get near it, just give me a room and I’ll turn it into a tomb, performing late term abortions with mics in the womb, lyrical monsoon spinning a tune spelling your doom, cocooning buffoons who be thinking that they’re immune. The son’s nice, don’t make a brother have to say this twice, the son’s nice. You want to battle? Here’s your answer, first spar with sickle cell then tackle cancer. Then we can talk about who walks the walk and which one of us is just talking. I transfigure niggas with the lyrics I deliver cause any sucker with fingers and fears can pull triggers. Give me a blank page a mic and a stage and I’ll cure hunger hip hop and AIDS with one phrase. Black sage ahead of his age inside or out of the cage these bars blaze and the fire shows the bar’s raised. You can’t touch what your mind can’t clutch even if you use the dutch as a crutch there’s none such as the s-o-n, I’ve earned scars with the best of them and these rhymes be the testament… nothing more nothing less, I’ll let the muscle in my chest manifest. Hook I’m spitting lyrics in your spirit so fearless you fear it when you hear it cause you know you can’t get near it, just give me a room and I’ll turn it into a tomb, performing late term abortions with mics in the womb, lyrical monsoon spinning a tune spelling your doom, cocooning buffoons who be thinking that they’re immune. The son’s nice, don’t make a brother have to say this twice, the son’s nice. My flow’s painted with blood tainted with lead, pain in the head’s the source for this venom I spread. I poison thoroughbreds with metaphysical arrow heads and break bread with the rank and file A down to Zed. This atypical individual gets up in your physical with the sick lyrical spiritual. I countered the culture and took bites out of the vulture, socialist vocalist ready to cut the throat of crackers voting down the quota. Son’s a show-er, a prove-er, modern day maroon maneuver doer. Jamaican blood flows through a heart transplanted to the belly of the beast on this god-forsaken planet. Goddamn it, I demonstrate against everything the evil throw their weight against and they can’t stand it. Chanting in the streets feet crack the concrete from dc to tikrit there’s no escaping the beat. Hook I’m spitting lyrics in your spirit so fearless you fear it when you hear it cause you know you can’t get near it, just give me a room and I’ll turn it into a tomb, performing late term abortions with mics in the womb, lyrical monsoon spinning a tune spelling your doom, cocooning buffoons who be thinking that they’re immune. The son’s nice, don’t make a brother have to say this twice, the son’s nice.

Headphones dummy Black scorpion sting like kevorkian, your frame’s contorting and distorting when I pour it in. so bring your boys in to get their poison, fast forward to the sound of the son rejoicing, “huh” in the back room there’s a bathroom with a vacuum you can use to suck the venom but I doubt you’ll get it out before it hits your cerebellum. The son spent him, another one done by the left lung of the unsung young gun, how you like that son. I’m in your face spitting, don’t make me flip the script and kick you with the shit that’s not written, the son’s hitting, and plus he’s nice with the kitten, send’em to chuck dickens and I’ll make their pulse quicken. With the type of style that they know is finger lickin’ good, get it understood I wish you would, had beef before but now it’s all good. Well there’s clowns in each town so I guess its all hood. Now what was it again that I misunderstood, oh you don’t know don’t worry, I can tell your vision’s blurry because your words is getting all slurry. You’re in the pot simmering with the curry trying to scurry but what’s the hurry, thought you was down to get buried but it’s very clear, that your heart don’t really pump nothing but fear. Hook This is for cats that got clapped in the streets, This is for cats that got back on they feet, This is for cats that want the hip hop to grow This is for cats that show and prove what they know. X2 Enter the son, I bust caps with out guns, and rock raps with out funds, I spit facts that split tracks and leave hacks done, which frees cats to ease back and breathe some. When I blaze the page I stays amazon like the way that hip hop has changed this nation, but today the shit they play make me change the station and I change it right thurr cause for that I don’t care. But that’s alright though cause any tight bro with the right flow is still guaranteed to make the mic glow with or without the record deal and lazer light show with or without the cameos from cats you might know, I’m down to earth so rhymes I spit in dirt just might grow – underground sound break commercial down to micro. Levels molecular this rebel’s reflecting a aspect of the art form original not replica If you’re with me just me know then, this is for the b-girls and boys that’s turned into B(/grown) men, as well as women looking for a new beginning in an inning where the hope for the home team’s thinning – us versus them, corporate check book versus the pad and the pen, its up to us how it ends. hook

Nine.eleven Devastation – feel the impact across the nation – karmic justification, Twin tower foundations devoured in the final hour – debris showered the concrete from the lower east side to wall street in manhattan – this is just an echo from the days of Powhattan – so how is it that people keep forgetting – the chickens are home and aint a single soul regretting – there’s no mention – of the dispatch hatched by Orin Hatch - to arm Bin Laden with traps to snap Soviet backs -in Afghanistan Cold War cold demand -that’s why against this war son has to stand. Fuck – This – War – On – Terrorism. It’s anti-arab racism, masked by the system in a killing campaign. The right’s revitalized off of trade center remains. More blood for oil, more pain for pain, no attention paid to the role that we played. Fuck this propaganda slander concealed by the banner, I demand the alteration of u.s. foreign relations. Open up your eyes so you can see the situations caused by these greedy rape you in the ass nations, third world debt traces back to colonization, like the situation facing indigenous nations, plus the cold war suppressed self determination and you’re telling me 9.11 had no justification! Be fucking for real, I’m not one of your sheeple so I’m not believing in every single thing that you deal. I’ve questioned your intentions ever since the Portuguese felt that first African breeze, since you brought the Russian revolution to its knees, since you tried to tell me human nature equals greed. Oh I beg to differ, with the historical text you’ve chosen to quote as the scripture. That’s why I rip the mic with the force of each life you have chosen to toss, aside as if they were worthless, and now we’re back with the knowledge and skills to burn this mother fucker, and puncture at each juncture, every structure you’ve imposed to clutch the mind. As we revive from decline we forever leave history redefined. Open your eyes somebody ring the alarm we need to spend money on schools not bombs Money for schools not bombs, money for food not bombs, money for jobs not bombs, money for truth not bombs. I step back, transform my mind to a nine and lick shots in solidarity with Palestine, political land mind, my rhyme is on trial, like mumia’s was just because he quoted mao. Now you start to question your freedom of expression, and if it still exists when you start pumping your fist. Kent state was a testament to this, cointelpro’s were a testament to this hypocrisy – amerik-k-klan democracy. Far from shocking me, I see disparity with clarity linked inherently to the upper class lust for cash, watch the news they cast over the minds of the mass. A singular perspective with a singular directive, to meet the advertisers quarterly profit objective. This is reflective of a politically regressive use of class division to promote a false vision. We can organize and mobilize to fight the system! Money for schools not bombs, money for food not bombs, money for jobs not bombs, money for truth not bombs.

Self Rust When I can’t touch what I believe in, life itself seems to loose it’s sense of purpose and reason. Cause I am (x2) Alone, rejected, neglected, confused, abused, used, infused into a system where people lose - what It was that life was worth living for, I give it my all, but every time I turn around my back’s against the wall. I’m living, I’m giving, I’m trying, I’m lying, I’m dieing under the pressure from what it takes just to simply survive in this world war outside of my front door, where boots step on the necks of the wretched and poor. With people struggling, job juggling, hustling, stumbling to believe despite the things they perceive, and this bleeds into the rhythm of life causing a schism of strife, imprisoning vision with prisms that reflect living as trife. I’m, livin this lifetime twisted by what I resisted because I enlisted to change minds. I’m alienated and self segregated by my depression and the disparity that the system’s created god forbid you should know this pain that colors the blood in your veins, and tears the heart muscle under it’s strain (x2 *maybe 4 w/ last two lowered volume & remainder said over top) its these times, its distrust, it’s the self doubt that leads to self rust i don’t know who I am sometimes but I know that when I be writing these rhymes I be right in these lines, right in these times, wrong or right son’s fighting to shine cause I’m confined in the dark and the light be the rhyme, and I’m nothing more nothing less than this struggle, this stress, this flesh, this pain, this heart, this breath, tainted with the scent of regret for things that I’d like to forget but I aint met a bottle strong enough to kill that yet. Guess I’m just another brother no different from any other who’s been smothered by what he keeps undercover. And it’s not a surprise cause it’s been poorly disguised none of my lies could hide what all these years have done to my eyes. I need to cry but I can’t and when I get close I always seem to push away the people that I love the most. I don’t know what it is I guess I’m just another one of those kids who thought that love was something that you kept hid god forbid you should know this pain that colors the blood in your veins, and tears the heart muscle under it’s strain it’s these times, it’s distrust, it’s the self doubt that leads to self rust No one could’ve told me that I would have turned out like this, alive at 25 with scars on the wrist, still raising the fist. Rapping and shit, digging in the dark and finding parts of my heart that I didn’t even know could exist. I just try to persist in this but if you know what I’m talking bout then you know that life can be hit or miss. Depression’s a bitch and then you die, or so I thought, or at least so I tried. So many days that I wanted to try but couldn’t, so many nights that I wanted to die but wouldn’t, I took two boxes of d-con, I slit my wrist and turned the gas on but this son still dawned. Scarred but transformed, fallen but reborn, and my religion is living even though I’m still given to wrong, I live life one day at a time and try to put the pieces back together with the strength of the rhyme god forbid you should know this pain that colors the blood in your veins, and tears the heart muscle under it’s strain, it’s these times, it’s distrust, it’s the self doubt that leads to self rust

I’ve been observing this system at every level and every rebel refusin to settle be catchin metal, I swear they sit back and revel in all they devilin with all they foreign country meddlin, pot callin the kettlin, mass destruction weapon peddling just let it settle in, they aint been fightin fair since chris Columbus nestled in. that genocide amplified and supplied by states using religion as a tool to divide by. I pledge by the razor’s edge to challenge the balance of power that’s devoured our life’s bread (empowered by bloodshed) this fight’s lead to the same thing that my strife’s wed, this movement for justice that’s as raucous as it’s widespread, sanctions to occupation, globalization to organization of antideathpenalty mobilization, we come correct in every situation supporting workers striking to improve conditions at their occupations. We come more better with each and every endeavor to be free from the fetter of a life pursuing the cheddar you can bet I stays clever with the letter regardless of weather forever touching the organ that’s under your sweater (yall) I stays nice with the letter yall –echo/ I rock the device to set it off They say get back, we say fight back (cause) we wouldn’t take it if they did us like they did Iraq. I’d walk- to Iraq- to- rock together- with a mother from over there who’s fighting to get a- better way of life that’s free from the strife and the pressure that comes with living under the hand of a foreign oppressor – they’re in the streets- fighting the beast- demanding the right- to run their country how they please- the war abroad connects back to the war at home, they give tax cuts to the rich but lay us off and send us home, if you resist then their tapping your phone, cracking and snapping your bones, and calling it legal with the patriot act and it’s clone. –it don’t matter who’s in presidential position from Nixon to Clinton it’s the people providing the friction, fuck a politician, spitting dishonest diction, and nuff respect to people that be separating the fact from the fiction, we’re on a mission ta, widen the schisms of, capitalism and replace it with a system thas, for the people, by the people, of the people, (and) not the evil They say get back, we say fight back (cause) we wouldn’t take it if they did us like they did Iraq. if we die by the same rules we ride by, then how many leaders of countries would catch a drive by? You and I know –how- far- they’ll- go- when it ain’t the blood of their own their causing to flow –. George bush ain’t going to war, neither is the man who wins election 04’, the congress aint going to war, so what the fuck should we go for. George bush ain’t going to war, neither is the man who wins election 04’, the congress aint going to war, so what the fuck should we go for. Money for jobs and education, not for war and occupation x4 That’s bullshit, get off it, this war is for profit, war and occupation will never bring liberation.