1. |
Be Honest (Intro)
00:31
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2. |
Blue Shoes
03:03
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Let me tell you about the blues,
of wearing wack ass shoes;
This story begins with two parents, who made it VERY apparent
that there's is power in the ability to choose.
for they chose to never be have-not's
they worked non-stop to keep the shelves stocked
and in ten year's tops: they had the biggest
house. on. the. block.
Needless to say......
they sacrificed a lot.....
"a little TOO much" at first, I thought;
cause see ALL that hard work, NEVER brought
me and my little brother any props:
we were constantly being stopped by the fashion cops, like:
"HAULT!! -- Now we KNOW you don't think THEM shit's is hot"
but. but... there was no extra MONEY
to cop the new air maxes AND jordan's!
In third grade, I was ready to trade my SOUL
for what everyone else was sportin':
that BRIGHT WHITE 23 against that
SMMOOTTTH North Cacka-a-Lacka-BLUE
It just kinda set the new rules on what it meant to be:
C O O L // and I felt sorry for that one dude..
you know that dude...he came to school
with the imitation J's on like: WHO the HELL is 22?!
and oh the jokes the ensued...
you could hear half of them for all the 'OoOo's
that would trumpet him home with the mo' betta BluuUueEs
had 'em crying, quoting spike lee like
"it's GOTTA be the SHOES"
and it would echo on and on in head
as he laid in bed warring;
cause mom and dad ain't about supporting the latest fad;
NOT when their (9 to 5) math would add to:
1) a roof over your head,
2) a shirt on your back
and 3) pants on your ungrateful a...aand
it wouldn't mean SHIT to me, when they other kids would laugh
at my: TOP CHOICE VOITS with the INVISIBLE 5 DOLLAR TAG
I could afford the WHOLE Adidas so I had to rock the "AD"...
you KNOW the AD...
the one with the TWO FAT STRIPES;
I tried to fat marker the last one in, but i didn't quite look right;
Had one kid come back the next day, laughing at me like:
"maaaan, you had me laughing all through my parents
fighting last night....THANKS!"
OH whatta SHANK, whatta SPEAR!
as the jokes from my peers got colder
as we got older through the years,
and it really didn't help, when mom
sent us out with the sum of all fears:
the same red, blue, grey, sweat suit...
for a whole freakin' year....
but after a year,
some things just aren't funny
now Momma ain't raise no rich kids,
but she sho' wasn't raising no dummies;
so Lord knows, I didn't dress the best
but those who did? they were always the ones;
running to class....breaking a sweat....
trynna cheat off guess. who's. test?!
I must digress..take a GOOD LOOK
and see who we was; see
we were the one dress in the scrubs of love, see
we were the one dress in our parents
priorities, sorted and completed:
you will NEVER wear next month's rent
and utility bills; on. your feet
No bitter will be the reality
that would constantly repeat off these cheap sneaks
like "get. a . clue....you got much more to do, in this life
than worship: shoes. clothes. hoes, rims.
and things that have NOTHING to do
with how your life begins, or how it will end:
so I MUST commend those two
who never had a clue;
they helped their boy define his own standard of what's:
COOOL!!!
every time...
they bought 'em...
those cheap. wack. ass. shoes.
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3. |
Believe in Love
02:02
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4. |
Phone Haiku
00:07
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5. |
Jubilee
03:10
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6. |
Security Systems
02:38
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I have found that some of the world's most advanced security systems
Developed around the hearts of women I fall in love with, so
i've gotten pretty good at hacking codes,
from the no that mean yes
to the yes's that mean maybe
and the maybe's that mean "yes, baby, I AM that crazy"
and to say its cause they've been lonely lately
is quite possibly the understatement of a lifetime;
For deep life-lines don't mean light will shine
from where we need it most;
especially when most hearts are fickle host servers
with wifi signals that aren't as strong
as why they cry so long, for those who'd done them wrong,
for those who yell'so long' from throngs of iceberg shoulders,
why closure creeps no closer, regardless of how we choose to hold her;
like lovers, like friends, like closest of kin-dred spirit, like skin
like 10 good-reasons to get over-it, cause i'm knowing it'll OKAY,
but "yeah I know, just not today" echoes off tomorrow and today
like yesterday's excuses, as love loses it's potency;
provoking me to take serious any smile that has experience,
that knows how to make an appearance when life threatens trust;
to study up on children that know the difference between fate and luck
who look both ways before crossing the street to meet the ice cream truck,
who never get fatally stuck in the sway of the Jingles,
that may or may not believe in the Tooth fairy or Chris Kringle,
but know mommy is mommy regardless if she's married or single,
regardless if she gave physical birth to them, she's STILL an answer
to a prayer yet given;
sort of like how the phoenix was phoenix before and after it had risen,
was just as beautiful when beneath ash-n'-rubble, it lived in, see
these womens feelings are carefully hidden behind bone white prisons
their smiles, an encryption; a binary system that binds every rhythm of
One and None, of All and Some, and in all, the sum of their fears are as clear
as the closet over here... and the fridge right there,
as the jeans they won't wear this year,
cause the bitch in the mirror just stares
like "How DARE you do this to me?"
She always offends,she never makes amends,
and THOUGH this poem is about her..and her...and her..
it's more so for those who bug them,
for those who mean no harm, but keep tripping the alarms,
when trying... to love them....
This one's for every time you just wanted to take ten,
JUST pause n' give em,
cause DAMN it can be exhaustin'
trynna get her to love you,
MORE than she hates him, or her, or them
to love herself more then the fear that pain may reign
through her vains again,
when the weight tends to strain, and bend truth to scale,
when she looses the pounds around waist,
but the heart's still heavy as hell,
so her protective shell seems as hard as nails,
and it's hard to tell when her soul goes frail,
cause she acts real tough, and fronts so well,
and the jigs all up when the tears break out of jail,
the more she keep reminiscing over loves that had failed,
she'll need you to pay attention, in case she can't make bail,
cause we all need some kind of love to stay strong and prevail.
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7. |
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8. |
Time On Our Hands
02:16
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9. |
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Should I write a black history poem?!
I mean...
What the hell should a Black History Poem Do?
What it should it sounds like, and why should i write it?
Should it be a Spike Lee Collage
of great african american achievments?
Should it be latent down with struggle & berievement?
Should it quake like chains and shackles up my throat,
and taste like Hope upon my teeth,
Should my eys go red as blood or white as clansman sheets?
Do i have to mention Dizzy and Ella? Do I have to Dance
like Gregory Hines, and sing like Etta?
Should I pretend my skins give me some better, grand
understanding of ALL things black?
Should it be a guilt trip stacked with facts and stats,
that map what we've been through, and achor us to where we're at?
Should it smile
like Thelonius Monk's reflection
in apatures,
or should it pull a Miles Davis
and just stone wall it's respect
form all cameras?
Shold my black poem cry, scream
laugh, or be serious?
Should it dare to be curious?
Furious, jovial, lazy with energy
Should it proclaim an originality
that deams all other culture's it's mini-me?
Or should it express itself more religiously?
Should my black history poem mention gods,
who through out centuries, dodged English literacy
and literally can not be found where I'm from?
Should my black history poem ONLY be spoken over drums?
Should it run FOR freedom
or run LIKE freedom?
Should it run like wind through wings of sparrow
when our eyes see 'em, til they long to sieze them, keep them,
Should it stall? Should it pause?
Should it HAVE to run at all? Can it crawl?
Can it just hop in a car? Can it drive passed tomorrow
Would that be too far?
Could it be like that kite
that took flight passed satelites & stars?
Passed saturn's rings, passed mars,
and zig zagged a bazaar pattern back to where we are
and once it returns,
does it have to smell like frankensense
like prayer clothes, like incense?
Should it make sense to your sensative sensibilities?
Make you feel better for being black, or
guilty if you're not?
Should it swell chest with pride as Black History slides
over jimbes and bayous, and cadillacs and fatback,
and fishfries and cognac, and gang ties, and flap jacks
and four little girls sing 'bout Miss Mary Mack-Mack
All dressed in black-black, with silver buttons down her back-back
over platinum chains as rappers-rap as swaggers jack
and dappers dap, and old school cats start laughing back
like daaamn..
we used to "doo-dat-doo-doo-dat-dat-dat" (2x's)
like record scratched, broken
skippin' over tracks; black history
repeating its self; no history
repeating its self, i'm seeing this wealth
while repeating these steps
to learn where we're from
to see what is next,
to learn where we from
to know what's next
ain't just for one,
but everyone else, so yes...
I SHOULD write
that black history
poem.
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10. |
If I Wrote As Much
02:18
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11. |
Checkin' In (Interlude)
01:18
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12. |
DJ Been No Where
03:07
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Black Atticus Knoxville, Tennessee
Black Atticus is one of the most intelligent and heartfelt voices of the new southern hip hop movement.
Hailing from
Knoxville, TN, Atticus weaves the art of conversation through nu-sage wisdom with a dash of mother wit, the hard facts of life, and a honest sense of humor that hits home seamlessly
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