I babble in mics, mastering vibes that migrate like African tribes.
In these paths I realize, the prejudice that strike with pathogen drives,
I write my feelings through this brother’s hand, the force will massacre your heard.
We were children of the motherland, before the wars and the diaspora occurred.
Only bars that are in my future, are the ones that give me licenses.
Not the bars that unfortunate men peep out of, locked behind a grisly iron fence.
And because of those bars, we get barred from jobs and turn to busy violence.
How can we raise the bar, when the bar is lowered by our own expectations.
Represent my people, the cases I want are the ones that I represent Clients.
Not the cases that hold bullets meant to perpertuate recent violence.
Because of those cases, we got cases because our brothers couldn’t control themselves.
The only shots I want are shots for wisdom-skilled gain without physical pain.
Not the shots that are drug-filled and they put it in and out a mystical vein.
Or the shots that get thugs killed, because they were about the visceral game.
I Got suits for my profession, but the only suits that people profess me in have sentences.
And not the sentences that end in periods, but the ones that end a person’s freedom, period.
People want a revolution, but when the time comes they don’t want to lead one.
Now I know what W.E.B Dubois meant when he talked about double consciousness.
Cant go to some places without there being an awkward troubled consequence.
But I still hold my head high, take pride in who I am, and walk with bubbled confidence.