I made this collab with this cat Jose from TF North's Poetry Slam, you know you love it. I'm in bold and he's not.

Strictly Business

The ship arrives, and right away the slaves trudge to land   Each one seemingly identical

draped in chains they limp halfheartedly hearts as cold as their stone faces

The buyers sit impatiently in the audience with wallets fatter than their bellies, this is strictly business

each discerning eye fixated on the carbon copied line of ebony-ed Adonises, "Which shall I take home today?"

And now the Auction starts, the slaves all waiting to be sold, smiling selfishly, sales mean money, sales mean money, I am money!!

Black men posted up on trading blocks...playing to perspective owners worst sensibilites

They start bragging about the money they have, the diamonds they own, no sense... they're about to be sold

and then we begin, with slick white men stepping up to place bids

"Tonight we need our next big thing."

"We need us the toughest, biggest, baddest negro we can find."

up steps that strong duragged stereotype stereo-banger...

the type to...throw folks up in the burbs

the stuff of...lost dreams up on the curb

made by tribal warfare fought on cold cement streets.. taught to have no feelings... feelings are for the weak

next up we have that perfectly fitted, Tall T'ed terror of the town

disillusioned to believe in flight like fresh air forces

engineered to create fear, Pants falling off exposing hints of crack

breeded to be those big negroes, Uncle Tom with a tommy gun

And suddenly the white folks become animated Create a mosh pit at the auction block Start shoving contracts at people

"You do hereby solemnly swear to give up all your creative freedom as an artist and make music that represents no one"

Illiterate wonders mark Xs making a travesty of Malcolm's legacy

Smile because they believe they got the best of the deal

This lynch mob, finds a new place to hang chains, on necks who gang bang,

hip-hop 101.

Rule number one: As an emcee you must always act like a God, no one is on your level, nor can you be held accountable by the law

Rule number two: break your back for whips, rocks on your wrist supplied by rocks in your hand

Rule number three: Degrade women, act like you never had a mother, but then make corny love songs so that they adore you

Rule number four: originality is fatal, come on and give the people what they want,

even if it kills them.

Screw what they need.

This is strictly business.

Let's be real for a second...

ripped from the rhymebook...

She said we’re breaking up and she just wanna be friends

At first I wanted to cringe; now I want it to end

So I can send dirty texts and chirps unto the next twirp

That I wanna work to undress her skirt

I’ll flirt, with them chicks that been all on my brain

And every thick hipped chick the been callin’ to stain

Mayne I rock hard when I rock bars

Only cat wit’ a backpack that’ll mack like a rock star

Or a dope boy, when ya’ dope, boy

It’s hard to imagine ever bein’ taken for a dope boy

But it happens, say it don’t, liar

So I gotta chill, try to shake it off like Mariah

Butterfly… but I’m flyer

And I like hot chicks so I’m quick to the next fire

Mic Schwarzenegger, dog it’s all in the flex

Girl’s started to vex, ‘til I got my next callin’ me next

nobody take this personal or anything, it's a damn verse

I know I left y'all too long but I'm back and I got one for y'all..

Sincerely,

Nate

I’m writing to you…

To finish the letter that my mother wrote,

Or at least to give it closure.

I was never sure what to say to you,

Hardly knew what you looked like

Mommy never let you around much after I came around.

But I feel compelled to write this letter to you,

Because I’m the man of the house,

Because of you.

So now that my momma has recovered from your lies

After they made us lie, so low, I felt like I should show you how I felt

In hopes that you would care…or at least apologize halfheartedly

You were always the one I’d hide pictures of as a little boy when friends came to play

Not because I hated you…or even knew you who you were

But because I didn’t want them to ask questions,

Because then I would have to.

I had to convince myself that everybody was like us

That we weren’t the genetic misfits

And fittingly…hip-hop became my haven

As street stories blasted through speakers.

I nodded my head in recognition, that we weren’t the worst ones!

Bankhead bounced to affirmations of my own self worth

Simply because other’s selves were worthless

And I witnessed graffitied downbringings of you

And I had to skate around them with humor or hatred

In hopes that no one would ever think to ask…

“What do you think about the matter?”

And when they asked me what’s the matter

I said nothing, when in truth I just didn’t know

But a child’s world sees no shades of gray and leaves no room between no and yes.

So I confess…that there was something wrong

And it was partially your fault,

But I don’t hate you…I’ve accepted you as lesson in life

And I love you because you did have a profound effect on who I am

And I felt the need to say…

As the world D.A.R.E.’s to throw stones at you

As you once did to them.

I will not cast one,

Because it is after all, at the end of the day.

Our choice.

And I just wanted you to know that you can never count me among your allies

But also never among those who place blame squarely on your rock steady shoulders

And my mother doesn’t miss you…but I felt like she needed this closure.

And maybe I did too.

Dear Crack Cocaine,

Gravity Night

Leap of Faith

Heel,

foot,

heel,

foot.

Break off the metronome.

Fall on moving materials,

don’t stop.

Scully spin,

flip kick,

flip kick,

human BMXer.

We fracture floors.

Afrika Bambataa is our martyr.

Keep pace,

dance in ways

handed down by ancestral tribes.

David’s stars,

We are the chosen people

As we,

cradle grooves.

The way a,

dreidel moves.

We,

play it smooth.

So to,

Show and prove

So tonight we jump but we won’t fall down,

and pull stronger than the Earth ever could.