[MUSIC PLAYING]
Let's play.
Fuck it.
You can't hear anything?
In this kingdom, the good die mostly over bullshit.
Hungry mobs grief-dance in full pits.
Yup, no justice for Breonna Taylors.
Again, Lady Liberty sleeps as we assail her, but the poor,
the outcast, the least, the no ID'd, the barred, the beaten,
we the people, the artists, the teachers, the thinkers,
we got the remedies.
So let's unleash them as we break dance over beats of pain
with sick grace, busted masked moves in the sadistic space.
The All-American racism is spittin' its rage,
contaminating bubbles with the sickest plagues.
So we got fascism blasting through the addict's veins,
families spastically trying to curb the pains.
Dying to save this two-faced nation as white immunity
reigns in public spaces.
It hails bullet holes in tore up Kenosha.
The plague's holster got shots ferocious.
Seven in the back from the state soldiers,
then Rittenhouse's long gun, no safety, no, sir.
Blaow, but there's no protester OSHA.
Police let him go, long gone, no poster.
Goes home so safely.
Sheriff blames the dead so insanely.
But protesters protecting the sacred so
bravely, while White wing militias
take space so brazenly, while Neo-Trujillos oversee it
with glee.
Very fine vigilantes attacking with speed.
This democracy's been sick and divided,
but once again, we're fighting for its life.
Everyone's so sick from the king's diseases.
And everyone's been sick from the king's diseases.
So we down in this--
so we down in these pits cooking up these ingredients.
See sheisty bellies of unmasked beasts.
Keep night-and-day riding BIPOC.
Neo-Roman legions lesioning the plebeians.
See, everyone's so sick from the King's diseases,
but for this greed we've got these potent doses,
like L-Boogie boldly showed us
See, we switching up the fucking focus,
from the richest to brokest, from the richness of our locus.
We got underground power growing.
Got lasers loco focused.
Got poets caring for the most broken.
Got healers in circles unbroken.
Got large professional gnosis.
We dropping Baldwin's old shit in Johnny Blaze voices.
Got-- got votive bodies glowing with ancestral
next-gen-woke-shit.
Got acts, arts, and letters code-meshed
with Chef and Supaman talking codes in jets.
Got Ellison poised entre Mos Def and DuBois like a puente.
Got Tito and Flying Lotus crossing Lorca's duende.
Got bells tollin love's soul hooks.
Got horns blowing blutopian notes in books.
So diseased kings better know this week,
we unleashinig soul power in your moats and ocenas.
Because everyone's so sick from those king's diseases.
And everyone's so mad from the kingdom's greed.
And we down in these labs cooking up sick ingredients.
So load those needles fast and inject them
into the vaccines quick.
And look around in this unseemly hour
at what grows under these kingly towers.
Sick roots under all these fucking flowers,
from centuries of uncut will to power.
waging war, near and far, on the least, on the dark.
But we got squads with more power than foxhole cowards
in power.
And as they glower in their final hours,
it's time to record the toppling of the towers.
Ha, sad for them, Saddam and crew
looking around like deja vu.
But unlike their ballistic tools, this is a pacific coup.
We're unwrapping love in public, blasting
the ravages of injustice with barrages of ballads and troba
medleys, bars heartened with immortal techniques.
So here we are, unscathed, still standing on these stages.
Can't just sit well kids again locked in cages,
kids sick and dying in front of our faces.
So artists again, take up the cases,
frame the game, the makers, the perpetrators.
Paint ironic bars too thick for all the jailers,
so they can't escape them.
It was written illmatically in blood,
but we channel the sickness as it floods.
Bodies, heads to souls, cast it out, compost, and compose gold.
Keep feet on the ground, mind on the future,
ears on the heartbeat, grinding out a surge.
We're hitting the walls of war, but busting through the bars,
adapting to shifting pandemics, and winds
with shifting rhythms and systems, depleted
but not defeated.
We burn but rise repeatedly, playing through grief,
the deepest, liberating my deepest dreams
beyond the moats drafting these antidotes, unlocking
these king's cracked codes.
So the sick, the poor, the outcast, the least,
the no ID'd, the barred, the beaten, we the people,
the artists, the thinkers, the teachers,
we got the sick remedies needed.
So go unleash 'em in the streams of this kingdom.