They say that music soothes the savage beast
If that in fact is true...Then by God, we all need a goddamn symphony
We've got too many of my brothers and sisters claimin' to be revolutionaries
So-called poets and prophets, getting their psalms and visions, from whatever BET or MTV has in heavy spin rotation, but if we're going to claim Pac or Biggie to be our generations new inspirations, God help us, then let me wipe their blood out my eyes with a gun by my side, and be Jonathan fuckin Jackson, and like him, let me take on the system, by claimin' asylum in the spirit world of 4 hundred years of phantom victims
Because before you can claim freedom, you have to claim Death as your best friend, and then let the sidewalk get your very last ounce of gin, and then spit on the religion that tells you that Jesus was a blue-eyed Caucasian, and then and only then, can we understand and comprehend the insidious evil behind the delusions that they try to delude us with, and with the Most High as my witness, even with so called Sirius radio stations, it's as clear as water, that even with more channels available to us, we still cant seem to see how diabolical the chronicles of history has shown the Beast to be, and how Justice has always just been this bitch with a phallus
So let the music play on...
Let it play on for the masses of strange fruit clumped together in this nation's not so secret gardens
Let it play on for the corporate plantations that still keep us all, share croppin and hemmed in, with prisons and gentrification
Let it play on for General Toussaint, Hannibal and Garvey
Let it play on loudly for Sojourner, Coretta, and Harriet, so no evil can prosper against me
Let the trumpets blow so ambition cant flow from starvin brethren who do not know yet that whispers can start revolutions
Because if the music were to end, maybe then wed realize wed fought for civil rights only to have them taken away less than a generation later, by right wing courts who uncivilly took the rights of the have nots, till they were left with none
Maybe if you took away the riffs and chords of the blues, focused on the hurt of its origins, wed see the crimson red, staining our streets from unaccountable cops with free reign from crooked politicians who our dumb asses let in, cause we thought their campaign music was bumpin, produced by Dally Austin, so we all had it blarin, but we couldnt see the lies, cause Diddy was too busy Harlem dancin and shakin, but more than a Small thing was missin not just the money in Biggies Estate, but compassion, a lack of our collective attention! Vote or Die has got to be more than just a slogan!
For those who are askin, know this about me if you know nothin else, Id rather hear the sounds of violence than the sounds of silence, cause at least then, I would know povertys legions would have finally been moved into action
Life is a series of tales told by idiots and trust me on this, weve got plenty of those in DC -- full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
And thats exactly the consideration we gave to a series of lives destroyed forever by Katrina, or the rest of poor ass folks not named Rockefeller around this nation, absolutely nothing
But while the Ninth Ward sunk below our levels of observation, this connivin government somehow made sure to keep the parades and commerce goin over in the Quarters
And somewhere, ya gotta remember, that between hunger and anger lies danger!
So youd better hope we stay rappin, instead of getting our H.Rap Brown on with an M-16 and star cappin and blastin
Cause if the music were to end, then maybe then, wed drop the pens and all my brethren and sistren would strap up their weapons, locked and loaded, not on insurgent Iraqis or Iranians, but double-tappin on our own damn congressmen
So Allah, Jah, Buddha, Jehovah, or whomever, Im prayin let the music stay on and play on
Let it play on for the millions whose passage wasnt golden and died in the ocean
Let it play on for the Crips and the Bloods, the Disciples, the Lords, the killers, the thugs, the hustlers, the hookers, the players, and the victims of Justice, who looked just like us
Let it play for the junkies who died snortin and the dreams that died hopin
Let it play on for Lorraine and Langstons Raisin in the Sun, because weve all seen what happens when we aint there to raise our sons
Let it play on for Chesamaird, Hampton , Martin and Malcolm, Angela, Stokely, Nelson, Adam Clayton and General Powell, Thurgood Marshall,
and lets keep it rockin around the clock, 'cause weve been fightin too long and Im tired of songs, songs in the key of life, songs for freedom, old Negro spirituals, and old gospel hymns, songs in A minor, when our issues are so fuckin' major, I dont mind carrying my brother but the key is, I wont do it for the paper But even though I play chess, Im still confused yo, see all these songs for the future aint givin us no answers so the words wont even come out my mouth when I try to lullaby my son, and Im left alone in my dome, stutterin and wonderin about the solution of retribution And Im so tired, cause death has been poppin and jammin with our souls way before Rick Rubin or Russell Simmons```
And me, Im down with the Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing . of Kings, so I fear no evil, and I will Run, Run, Run, ('cause its MY HOUSE) from no one!!!
If you press the mute button then, Im scared of what would happen
And the fact that I sport Jordans that cost a buck 80, doesnt take away from the truth that Im talkin
Yes, maybe the same country that professes to fight for freedom, yet can drop A-bombs and napalm on women and children, will now find their own blood on my palms, see Ive seen death up close too often, carried far too many coffins, so I can no longer carry a tune but I can keep this shit goin
But instead Ill end this piece, with a peace be unto you bruh, as-salaaam-alaikum, shalom, amen
And if its really time for Spoken Word to end or Def Poetry to end, maybe finally its time for the music to end and start this revolution
So for all my church choirs around the nation, singin and praisin amens to the congregation
Drop your mikes and stop singin and start swingin
For all the enemies to the cause, yall better keep hopin and prayin that the music keep on playin
Cause if it dont Yall gonna find out firsthand and understand what the fuck it was I was sayin
If that in fact is true...Then by God, we all need a goddamn symphony
We've got too many of my brothers and sisters claimin' to be revolutionaries
So-called poets and prophets, getting their psalms and visions, from whatever BET or MTV has in heavy spin rotation, but if we're going to claim Pac or Biggie to be our generations new inspirations, God help us, then let me wipe their blood out my eyes with a gun by my side, and be Jonathan fuckin Jackson, and like him, let me take on the system, by claimin' asylum in the spirit world of 4 hundred years of phantom victims
Because before you can claim freedom, you have to claim Death as your best friend, and then let the sidewalk get your very last ounce of gin, and then spit on the religion that tells you that Jesus was a blue-eyed Caucasian, and then and only then, can we understand and comprehend the insidious evil behind the delusions that they try to delude us with, and with the Most High as my witness, even with so called Sirius radio stations, it's as clear as water, that even with more channels available to us, we still cant seem to see how diabolical the chronicles of history has shown the Beast to be, and how Justice has always just been this bitch with a phallus
So let the music play on...
Let it play on for the masses of strange fruit clumped together in this nation's not so secret gardens
Let it play on for the corporate plantations that still keep us all, share croppin and hemmed in, with prisons and gentrification
Let it play on for General Toussaint, Hannibal and Garvey
Let it play on loudly for Sojourner, Coretta, and Harriet, so no evil can prosper against me
Let the trumpets blow so ambition cant flow from starvin brethren who do not know yet that whispers can start revolutions
Because if the music were to end, maybe then wed realize wed fought for civil rights only to have them taken away less than a generation later, by right wing courts who uncivilly took the rights of the have nots, till they were left with none
Maybe if you took away the riffs and chords of the blues, focused on the hurt of its origins, wed see the crimson red, staining our streets from unaccountable cops with free reign from crooked politicians who our dumb asses let in, cause we thought their campaign music was bumpin, produced by Dally Austin, so we all had it blarin, but we couldnt see the lies, cause Diddy was too busy Harlem dancin and shakin, but more than a Small thing was missin not just the money in Biggies Estate, but compassion, a lack of our collective attention! Vote or Die has got to be more than just a slogan!
For those who are askin, know this about me if you know nothin else, Id rather hear the sounds of violence than the sounds of silence, cause at least then, I would know povertys legions would have finally been moved into action
Life is a series of tales told by idiots and trust me on this, weve got plenty of those in DC -- full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
And thats exactly the consideration we gave to a series of lives destroyed forever by Katrina, or the rest of poor ass folks not named Rockefeller around this nation, absolutely nothing
But while the Ninth Ward sunk below our levels of observation, this connivin government somehow made sure to keep the parades and commerce goin over in the Quarters
And somewhere, ya gotta remember, that between hunger and anger lies danger!
So youd better hope we stay rappin, instead of getting our H.Rap Brown on with an M-16 and star cappin and blastin
Cause if the music were to end, then maybe then, wed drop the pens and all my brethren and sistren would strap up their weapons, locked and loaded, not on insurgent Iraqis or Iranians, but double-tappin on our own damn congressmen
So Allah, Jah, Buddha, Jehovah, or whomever, Im prayin let the music stay on and play on
Let it play on for the millions whose passage wasnt golden and died in the ocean
Let it play on for the Crips and the Bloods, the Disciples, the Lords, the killers, the thugs, the hustlers, the hookers, the players, and the victims of Justice, who looked just like us
Let it play for the junkies who died snortin and the dreams that died hopin
Let it play on for Lorraine and Langstons Raisin in the Sun, because weve all seen what happens when we aint there to raise our sons
Let it play on for Chesamaird, Hampton , Martin and Malcolm, Angela, Stokely, Nelson, Adam Clayton and General Powell, Thurgood Marshall,
and lets keep it rockin around the clock, 'cause weve been fightin too long and Im tired of songs, songs in the key of life, songs for freedom, old Negro spirituals, and old gospel hymns, songs in A minor, when our issues are so fuckin' major, I dont mind carrying my brother but the key is, I wont do it for the paper But even though I play chess, Im still confused yo, see all these songs for the future aint givin us no answers so the words wont even come out my mouth when I try to lullaby my son, and Im left alone in my dome, stutterin and wonderin about the solution of retribution And Im so tired, cause death has been poppin and jammin with our souls way before Rick Rubin or Russell Simmons```
And me, Im down with the Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing . of Kings, so I fear no evil, and I will Run, Run, Run, ('cause its MY HOUSE) from no one!!!
If you press the mute button then, Im scared of what would happen
And the fact that I sport Jordans that cost a buck 80, doesnt take away from the truth that Im talkin
Yes, maybe the same country that professes to fight for freedom, yet can drop A-bombs and napalm on women and children, will now find their own blood on my palms, see Ive seen death up close too often, carried far too many coffins, so I can no longer carry a tune but I can keep this shit goin
But instead Ill end this piece, with a peace be unto you bruh, as-salaaam-alaikum, shalom, amen
And if its really time for Spoken Word to end or Def Poetry to end, maybe finally its time for the music to end and start this revolution
So for all my church choirs around the nation, singin and praisin amens to the congregation
Drop your mikes and stop singin and start swingin
For all the enemies to the cause, yall better keep hopin and prayin that the music keep on playin
Cause if it dont Yall gonna find out firsthand and understand what the fuck it was I was sayin
