“As long as I send your maggot ass to the essence, I don’t give a fuck about my presence…” – Prodigy of Mobb Deep – “Right Back at You”
He made a resume of guns and knives. A credibility that takes lives but all contrived to hustle truffles into the pillows of nigga’s dreams. It funnels molested monies into the wallows of a clustered manifesto. The pontification to belittle the poor was exactly what sold it to the poor. Their hatred of self fully funded it all as any blind hedge fund. Who knows the way that the knife goes as it cuts open a bank of concealed life you had no right to. But he wants it so bad and so he ought to stay winning as your idol sailing through your worship. #RespectFAKE as they dig in the crates of your bitch heart…
The snare I dream of ought to be drummed off your face. For you a vine is forever, a weed is bouquet of behavior and you breed pigs that don’t fly straight. But swine you is, your weeds I pluck and the vine is a worthless crime of time’s habits. The real trans-action today is the trans-real where the fake woman, fake nigga, fake you, all feel a little realer. Sign here, chop this, put those on, fix this like this, walk that way, talk this way–And yes! You now are how you feel! But I know what you are and I know that’s all you can be, you lil’ puto. #RespectFAKE when the dress rehearsal has no ending…
Preyed upon in a church, the devil’s dogma invades the dogma we were first given to find escape in. I tell them to prey for the lost parts of your mind in a school. A school I see all you older niggas can’t respect cause the curriculum was founded by a man no longer in the madhouse of your pro’s and anti’s. But you a fake, a Drake who sings melodies of misery, a phony proclaiming he the God but mad the first builder didn’t architect your shady palace. Waiting impossibly for our people’s hatred to unfold righteous combat but your heart’s the stuff of Origami, soft sheets folded into extravagant show that fly away in the wind when the littlest of girls toss you. The washed up desert ain’t an oasis if you call it that and stop. #RespectFAKE when the phlegm of bitches work to salt up the shores of the real teachers.
To the bottom of the maker’s cauldron: Integrity drains a man when the meals are so rare. Many lose franchising their own utensils. Like an MC opting for the happy meal, this McNigga coon shakes and knives his way through the headquarters pounding. The forks of principles become a pitchfork of lies, the premise of a false bio. All the pride of juiced egos stain and strain the teeth so truth couldn’t ever have bit through the falsehood. Enrolled in the wrong foods, the plates position weaklings that are comfortable spooning off the flesh of those they can presume dead. They win toys, gain fame and earn more nothing. #RespectFAKE as I fast and build, hunger and persevere, cause there ain’t no mystery to my supremacy.
Scripts, scrolls and simple signed seals chisel a Bronze Nation in the mortar of letters that innovate creation cementing immaculate fury in kevlaar. Many sevens from Black to Gold in the shaded family with hundreds of disciples we only here to serve. #RespectFAKE, a mantra of the real generals leading the war for the Real, that the Word of honor shall not fail. You’ll see the bond: Devils’ heads collected as severance. The women drawn up to the equality of their highest essence. The victories the youth will cherish in reverence.
“Everyone and everything is at war/making my poetic expression hardcore” – KRS-One – “R.E.A.L.I.T.Y.”