Ms. Mimi:
It’s me, it’s me O Lord, Standing in the Need of Prayer…
No justice no peace in these streets tonight
Say I’m standing here, waiting for my soul to turn on the porchlight
Hoping that hope will be home before midnight
Partitioning off faces with the pseudo-realities, of these twirling, whirling
Picturesque black on black fantasies…
Folk talking about they keepin’ it real
When they shed skin like snakes
Welcome to Castle “Upper-Echelon”
Where we hook your fantasy up
Even if your reality is ghetto-fabulously fake
Partaking in fate, passing around that collection plate
Of lust no fuss only thrills in this temple of masquerades
We step out surreptitiously, glass slippers made of tar
Make mundane musical monotony in a mutiny
Lying about who we are and what kind of car we drive…
The smell of desperation
Theological…
Hey, can anybody find me a porchlight for my soul…?
I said, hey, can anybody find me a porchlight for my soul…
Say brother, you got a porchlight?
Where is my porchlight?
I know you got a porchlight,
Yeah you got a porchlight for my soul…
One that will show this crescent stain
Where my cousin that was laid to rest
Larger than that period
And that six-syllable sentence that was placed in the daily news
You know that sentence, from that porchlight?
Can anybody help me find a name
Deep inside my hypothalamus, magnetic, kinetic, rudimentary, Everyday, miraculous tears
For my baby sister who’s flower was poked out before it even came into season…
For no good reason…
But I keep on believing, perceiving, upheaving, and bleeding
But Lord!
I’m still breathing… can anybody find my porchlight?

Jolowmight(x) Cervantes:
A shot from the cannon
Let’s have ourselves a hanging…
Who’s the first scapegoat I can find?
Time done passed so quick that we mistook sand for grits
Not edible, but covered in toppings
To make you forget you eating animal droppings
I’m downing fish that’s been filled with hydrocarbons and dispersants
And the news of the day is why ain’t Obama
Turned into Samuel L. circa 1995?
What does Marsellus Wallace look like?

Does he look like a Sucka MC?
You know a jackleg preacher/ who reduces genocide to the pride of victims/ no pain no gain/ the bane of my existence/ who seek forgiveness without repentance/ damn! Y’all is a hindrance

Does he look like a Sucka MC?
A person who can’t win an argument cuz they lyin’/ so instead of conversion that cast dispersions/ and it’s so puzzling that we mistake truth for a dumb ass winning the dozens

Does she look like a Sucka MC?
Those who believe capitalism can never be surpassed/ as if God has been outclassed/ but idols harass/ and if the West has engineered the best system possible/ then why is poverty so damn unstoppable?
Does she look like a Sucka MC?
An anthropocentric antagonizing albatross/ who figures humanity is the boss/ the center of the cosmos/ filled with a pimp’s swagger/ throwing toxic daggers into our planet’s private parts…. They ain’t got ‘nam heart…

I ain’t done… Y’all gone hear it… These Sucka MCs…

Cervantes: Where’s my porchlight?/ My microscope/ y’all done provoked Cervantes to analyze his Petri Dish/ I suspect we gone have some organisms/ mental prisms/ victims/ underside of capitalisms/ pretensions/ fiction/ incisions with repetition/ this history-less land of progress finna get a taste of something it can’t handle/ burning both ends of the candle/ the vandals finna get called out/ let’s talk about the evisceration of public education/ let’s talk about how integration left so many behind/ let’s talk about church decline/ and prosperity preaching/ seems that Jesus leases, rents, buys, and occupies/ the reality elucidated in Lord of the Flies/ let’s talk about a nation where you gotta show your papers/ unless you clearly a vanilla wafer/ let’s talk about how po’ neighborhoods are next to trash heaps and oil fields/ yeah, let’s keep it real/ let’s talk about the slavery of the music industry/ where your creations are under their mastery/ let’s talk about how hip-hop went from a musical genre/ to an ecosystem of piranhas/ but you can’t thrive on one species alone/ so don’t thing longevity is through makin’ clones/ let’s talk about how this thing was built on the corpses of tribes/ and even that truth can’t jive/ with Obama’s retelling of American History/ which ain’t even mythology/ Mainstream history in America is the combination of propaganda, lies, a smidgeon of pigeon-dropping sized facts/ sound bites, talking heads/ that tell hyperboles of the dead…