Statement from Ecclesiastes regarding lyrical content on the album, 'A Cryptic Gospel':
The lyrics contained in this album are meant to relate to people's anger and sentiments. They are not a literal statement and I am not saying that I plan to reenact any of the particular acts depicted in my songs. People need to get mad at the lying and spying that the government is doing and this album is meant to inspire strong resistance to the direction our society is headed. One of my primary methods of communication is through poetry and music, both of which can be interpreted in different ways by different people. Let's build this movement together and unite around this sentiment. Let's accept that people are very angry at the way our society is and encourage self-expression in any form that speaks to this frustration.
A Cryptic Gospel
• Intro
• Get Mad!!!
• Make it Plain
• Criticism of Weapons
• Tears 2 my Eyes
• Preach On
• Waitin' in Line
• Sweatin' Gin
• Let us Prey
• My Contribution
• Walkin' Bones (A Requiem)
• Don't Cry For Me
Introduction
This is a disclaimer from proletariat productions:
This album contains lyrics that could be considered blasphemous and anti-American. By possessing this album listeners stand the risk of be being indited for charges of treason and conspiracy to overthrow the government. If you are not inclined to revolutionary politics, we do apologize for your mistaken purchase of this album and any mistreatment by officers of the law. If you are inclined to revolutionary politics, Proletariat Productions will not be held responsible for any acts of violence on the authorities of this system inspired by the lyrics performed by Ecclesiastes. Thank you. Enjoy.
Proletariat Productions done just now entered the scene so witness revolution (2x)
You ain't never heard this form of recordin' before like a mortar bomb blasting disturbin' the order of the social fabric that the world abhors as we represent the class that will forge the war to destroy this system, the victims exploited like slaves every day. Look in my eyes, see the blood shot lines of pain and desperation, just give me a 12 gauge and watch me fight. I got nothing to loose but my chains and if I die, the struggle continues because flowin' through my veins is a passion for freedom and goin' through brain are the means to do it. And even a thousand triggers pulled at me wouldn't stop this revolution because what we speak is the truth and these ideas are bullet proof...
Get Mad
If you been stuck in the ghetto and lookin' for work and just can't seem to find none (Get Mad!), yo fridge is empty, wallet's empty, you ready to simply (Get Mad!). If yo family starvin' livin, in poverty and things done always been that way (Get Mad!). Yo baby sick and need medication and you can't afford no healthcare (Get Mad!). If on yo way to a job interview and ain't got enough for bus fare (Get Mad!). If the sheriff ready to evict you and you can't afford to live no where (Get Mad!). If one of yo family members a crack addict and forced to steal to feed his habit (Get Mad!), done took yo TV, toaster, radio and just got out of rehab (Get Mad!).If the cops done stopped you pulled you over just to fuck with you (Get Mad!). If you sick and tired of being sick and tired then you know what to do, throw up both of them hands and holla like Marvin.
Chorus: Ain't it bout time we all got fed up, (Make me wanna holla, the way they do my life) did something bout this bull shit. (Make me wanna holla, throw up both of my hands) I think we need 2 jus rise up and take this to the streets. (Make me wanna holla, they way they do my life), We don't need no damn permits just grab an M16 and show these muthafuckas just how pissed off we can be (Make me wanna holla, throw up both of my hands.
If you tired of how this system and government functions then you gotta (Get Mad!). If you think George Bush is just muthafuckin fascist (Get Mad!), Just at the way they handled the victims of hurricane Katrina in New Orleans (Get Mad!), left tens of thousands of Black people stranded with out no food or water (Get Mad!). And look at the way they treat Latino immigrants for crossin' the border (Get Mad) steady be denied they rights because of workings of this racist order (Get Mad!). And look at occupation in Iraq that's based upon a bunch of lies and (Get Mad!), was it really about those weapons of mass destruction or oil pipelines? (Get Mad!) Don't let these blood suckin' muthafuckas get away with this shit (Get Mad!) If you sick and tired of being sick and tired then you know what to do, throw up both of them hands and holla like Marvin.
Chorus:
Why you still sittin there, you should be out there to (Get Mad!). You know damn right that this system's unacceptable(Get Mad!). Nothin' but pain and lies, pissin on you and tell you that is rainin (Get Mad!). I'm sick of this shit, fuck enslavement, I'm ready to just (Get Mad!), take my AK out of my closet and march with it to the White house and (Get Mad!), with liquid explosives under my clothes whatever's necessary, last words before I go (Get Mad!). If you tired of this way of life and want something much mo'(Get Mad!), Ecclesiastes A.K.A. syntax is on the track and telling you to (Get Mad!), If you sick and tired of being sick and tired then you know what to do, throw up both of them hands and holla like Marvin.
Make it Plain
Intro: It's the muthafuckin' Ecclesiates (4x) Here to break it down make it plain for you, so come on...
Here to make it plain with the language of anguish, givin' the truth of thangs how they name us and frame us as heathen as savages for bein' a stranger to the Anglo-Saxon status. It's a well known fact that bein' Black is a hazard in this American apparatus; dragged from the pastures of Africa to escapin' slave masters, from then there after to bein' second class citizens whose children is expected to be statistics and bastards. It's the Ecclesiastes, the lyrical nemesis, and political criminal, the literal antithesis to the American dream, and I ready to cross over old Jordan, no more of the weepin', it's our season, we got reason to be ceasin' our freedom. And I'll be on the front line at war, stealin' from the rich as I uplift my indigent constituents, convincin' them to relinquish the shackles of this lower class livin' and commence in sedition at the system rippin' every stitch of the White Supremacist fabric, attachin' every stripe on the flag.
Chorus: (Make it Plain) In response to the burdens that tarry, the truth that I carry is harsh but necessary.
(Make it Plain) Only in the scriptures of a cryptic gospel is sedition the commission, its hostile.
(2x)
As we practice the acts that our circumstances require, our identity is forced to conform to their standards, the pictures they paint of us. They label us as dangerous, a threat and a strain on the American framework, to justify their fears and reasons to contain us and tame us, profile us as violent, all the while our trials and grievin' originated with the first time we ever stated the pledge of allegiance. These muthafuckas kill me, the police patrol the ghetto like an oppressive infantry in a third world terrain in efforts to maintain these racist stipulation that we seeing on a daily basis, this modern day enslavement. And the irony of that is the fact that its lower class Blacks and Latinos that they recruit and send to attack Iraq "spreadin' democracy" (you bullshittin' me?). It's the same old logic to me, convince the oppressed population with illusions of patriotism as if we all got a stake in this nation's spoils to make us defend and promote ideals and rights that we've never experienced in our whole fuckin' lives.
Chorus
We shall overcome (3x) someday. Fuck it make it today we overcome, grab your guns, storm the streets like the red army, heavily heated stealthily organize. Open your eyes ready to rise, and overtake this. Fuck the state, got nothin' to loose, let's make a move, its time to shake this. We been in the bowels of the behemoth under astringent anguish, we lay down only to awaken and face the same shit. I'm throwin' up both of my hands and like Marvin, I just wanna holler. The sicker and thicker it gets it leaves a deficit in my tolerance. I'm ready to perform the methods of insurrection as the necessary solution cuz true liberation only comes through revolution. And I'm willin' to bring the war, elevate hell to seize the means of production with eruption of this AK, waylaying, you lay dead; blowin' up federal buildings like McVey did. They'll swear it was D-day, won't be enough police tape. It really don't get much plainer that's the aim and only resort: our salvation through war.
Chorus:
Criticism of Weapons
See a muthafucka like me use more than words to get a point across, I understand that that the blast of a nine millimeter yell louder than I could ever talk and complain, I'm pissed off in pain, stressed out, about to dismantle some things, waitin' for the all out riot to break out. I got my arsenal stashed up in my closet poise for war and I'm ready for the ruckus to erupt as we rush'em and buck'em all, fuck'em all up. Caught'em all by surprise, we rise, they ain't know we was organized. In the stealth I'm creeping through the trenches of the concrete jungle, catch you off yo' guard (you pig!) and ready to blow yo' fuckin' face off! Yellin' Amadudiallo as I'm pullin' the trigger with a vigorous repetition on a mission to recompense every victim. Comin' through this muthafucka with grenades, AK's and gauges blazin' police stations. Attackin' like a pack of raptors with a path of cadavers when I pass, you gaspin' askin' what the fuck happened? Ecclesiastes damn it! Vanguard of the lower class masses, the proletariat axis of freedom, an invisible army amassing vastly, from every crevasse of the various ghettos, blastin' avidly, with a wrath of disaster, graspin' passionately, the hopes of emancipation from this fascist reality, we clash collapse the system, smashin' the state's machinery, all out catastrophe.
Chorus: Its time to attack and bust at these muthafuckas we'll crush them, collapse them, rushin' the masses are strapped and blastin' right back at these facists, all had enough takin' action, actin' out hazardous tactics, urban guerilla war fashion. No more just askin' for rations.
(Get ready for war)
It's the original guerilla muthafucka right here in yo' vicinity, steady be practicing the criticism of weapons, stressin' my message. And its finna be an all out battle for the course of history, swarm yo' ass like a pack of bees, E to the muthafuckin' -cclesiastes headin' the pack disruptin the scene, click-clak, ratta tat, pap ping. My M16, it speaks for me, tellin' me to put a bullet in the head of every mutha fucka apart of the Bush regime. The CIA done labeled me a terrorist cuz they got a hold of my blueprints targetin' federal buildings to bomb'em, my plans to implant anthax in the sacks of mail all addressed to the Pentagon and capital hill--that high risk security threat, on the FBI's global top ten list and America's most, that abominable communist threat on the set from coast to coast inspirin' sedition against the system, those in power who keep afflictin' us. Call me an extremist but desperate times call for desperate measures. I got nothin' to lose with Veicong tactics decapitating, got homemade bombs on my kitchen table with outline plots for assasinations in the nation's capital, (Fuck Ronald Reagan!). Never been a muthafuckin patriot gave a shit about a pledge of allegience. Like Fredrick Douglass once asked: What the fuck does the fourth of July mean to slave?
Fully bullet proof and we plottin' for the raid, an underground infantry stagin' a siege, a nation-wide conspiracy amongst those with a stake to seize state power, those at the bottom of society, slaves with nothin' but their chains to leave behind ready to wage war, ready to draw gore, ready for more, steady all movin on an organized coup at large, utilizin' the readily accessible resources at hand with sophisticated plans and directives. Haulin' off mulitovs, comin' with the sawed-offs takin the territory destroying the order from the northern borders to the southern portion east, west sectors till its all sown up. You muthafuckas better call for back up, we came in deep. Got the riot squad on the run, inform the national guard, a mob is at large marchin' by the millions to Washington and guess what Farrakan, this time we comin' armed cuz real political power grows out of the barrel of gun So sound the alarm and put that muthafuckin color alert on the television from yellow to red cuz America's under another attack and yeah this time its domestic an insurrection, no way to contain this public rebellion they never expected a goddamn army to form within this social section, a muthafuckin' underground network of militias, on the offensive so fall back as we call it victory, crawl back in the halls of history.
Tears 2 my Eyes
Yo, I remember them Sunday mornings sittin' in the church pews, waitin' for the minister to bring some good news cuz shit we needed it, a house with an empty freezer, no lights, no gas, Oh Jesus, send a blessing. But nevertheless I learned my lesson once I realize that the cries of the multitude were being subdued by false truths of a savior comin' to save us since the slavery waitin' to see some amazin' grace. But guess what, being in church every Sunday morning never stopped my mama's tears from forming when couldn't feed her kids when they were hungry. And prayin' in tongues never kept the gas on let alone stopped the Sheriff from comin' to evict us. We're victims of indoctrination as they tell us lies that hell's awaitin' for not obeying a bible (fuck that).Well if rebellion is a sin then I'm a sinner. I witness too many screeching cries to Jesus and heard to many freakin' lies of people blaming themselves or demons for their affliction instead of a system that's tormented us from day one.
Chorus: Brings tears to my eyes for what they go through, to see them all cry out and do so in vain.
I'm so sick and tired of all of the lies, what we've been told would set us free.
Yo, I made this one for my mother, my sister, my brother, my cousins and all those just like them on the struggle lookin' for answers wonderin' why shit is so fucked up, so they turn the pages of the bible, uttering desperate prayers to themselves, pleadin' for a messiah to deliver us from this hell. And all I heard was my mama's cries through the night sangin: "Jesus on the mainline, tell him what you want". But obviously he ain't paid his phone bill cuz that line was disconnected, kept getting a busy signal sayin' that this number does not exist at all. All the while the shit we facin' has its basis in the system and the way it makes us see ourselves in relation to our problems and the desperate things we do in hopes to solve them. Yet the things we've come to believe as naturally the cure to our discontent is actually a component to our ailment.
Chorus:
Waitin' for that sweat chariot to swing low ain't got us nowhere. The tears of family members are still shed by the legal lynchings of policemen, the prisons are still stuffed with a majority of minorities. And we still see each other as enemies because that's the way we have to be in order to eat and survive in this capitalist framework that actually created the ghetto just for you and me just to keep us contained and antagonistic at one another instead of the muthafuckas who actually perpetuate this shit; feeding us the antiseptic of religion to keep us on our knees prayin' to the same gods and doctrines that advocated slavery. So we feel powerless as if it's a sin to overtake and resist those who afflict us and trick us into believing such lies.
Preach On
Intro: Preach on, Preach on, Preach on, Preach on Ecclesiastes, with a sleakness freak this beat and speak this cryptic piece, that speech that makes the skies weep and seas proceed to bleed as the streets will heed. Preach on, Preach on.
Rome is burnin and slaves is all rebellin'. The table was bound to be turnin' cause like my rent this dissent is long over due. We evictin' you, we sick of you, the bullshit you spoon feed religiously to candy coat this tyranny and justify our subordination. It's the fuckin' Haitian revolution all over again as we vanquish the army of Napoleon. Yessir, let's uh have church up in here, I got the spirit (whooo). It's the mister Ecclesiastes in baggy ass khakis and flannels, a prime example of what happens when Al Sharpton meets Marshall Mathers, when the sixties meet hip-hop, when Huey Newton meets Tupac. That boy's gone too far. Let's all say hallelujah and testify the peace of mind that runs through you, when you uh, squeeze on that trigger and get sanctified by inflictin' violence on your persecutors.
Chorus: (repeat) Eccle - Z (whooo)
Good lordy lord, look what they done caused, they got me all excited and shit. I sweatin' gin. I'm pissed. I'm in my grandmama's basement, pacing, frustrated from chasin' forsaken dreams impatient, craving the sensation of green paper to graze my finger tips, debating on facing the risk of incarceration for takin' this gauge and casing the currency exchange on Halsted. And lord have mercy on any muthafucka that cross me flawsin'. Too often is my funds exhausted and I'm accosted with caustic pressures that force me to get that sawed-off and stress it, a result of the methods we left with, it hectic. I'm desperate so fuck it. Who got a lot of dollars I can cop to solve these problems. I'm out of options, sorry mama, I'm bout to start to robbing. They'd rather see me incarcerated than graduated from college, which is why we got more prisons than schools and more minorities with felonies than degrees.
Chorus:
Peer into these glassy ass eyes of mine and tell me is you feelin' me as I spit these cryptic similes, don't mind the smell of gin on me as I hoop and holla bout these problems killin' me. I been an enemy unconditionally of this system since I learned to read and some agree, but most believe I'm just disturbed emotionally, especially those who be in my closest family when I get to ranting that revolutionary shit: "Talkin' bout overthrowing the government, you done lost your mind!" You goddamn right. I've watched them all and so many more struggle up under this system chasing pipe dreams of living nicely like the white folks and superstars on TV. But we be confused, perceive things eschewed. You see me, my hue guarantees me my due set of reasons to refuse what they feed me, that bull. So while you dee-dee-dee--doo, I be the Eccle - Z (whooo) speakin' that news, and believe me you'll soon see so clearly that these things is true.
Chorus:
Waitin' In Line
Chorus: Been waitin' in line too long, been lookin' for signs too long, been singin' hard times too long, too long, too long
Its been a long time comin', too long of a time comin'.The pain still strummin' and I'm still runnin' cuz old man river ain't stopped rollin'. I'm tired of this hopin' this waitin', it should have been yesterday we overcame, I'm anxious to get these shackles off my ankles and escape from this plantation. For too long we been prayin' and pleadin' and beggin' on sweat Jesus to spear us a blessin'; I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees, beggin' relief, comin' in peace to negotiate concessions from the hands of my oppressors. I admire my predecessors, but the time for non-violence expired when they buried brother Martin, so while you sangin' don't forsake us, I'll be takin' my forty acres and a goddamn mule! Hell naw, I ain't forgotten. I say we tally up the posse like Bobby and Huey, bring the fury to Washington with a full fledge arsenal as we wage a people's wage and engage with no remorse.
Chorus:
Penitenturies and ghettos is all populated with the future troops of the people's army, incubated by the daily course of affliction and drama associated with poverty and slums, the state and its pawns. Militant muthafuckas, all with nothing but their shackles to lose, attackin' subtle diffuse with guerilla tactics like an Urban Vietcong terrorizin' the police. Centuries of grief and repression all comes to a head, every tear we've ever shed is reckoned each time I put pressure on this trigger. With a vigor, my request for emancipation is expressed through barrel of this Wesson. Fuck yo' laws, fuck yo' system and its minions. I'm the image of that dimension of society that you mention with a quiver in your diction cuz you considered us as terrorist long before the Arabs, before there was Osama Bin Laden there was Nat Turner and Gabriel Prossor
Chorus:
I'm like, man, what the fuck! Wasn't Emit Till enough? Ain't our limit just about up? Is we gone bring this shit or what? I'm ready to bomb, ready to fight, ready to die, ready to kill, ready to live. My history demands of me to rectify the inequities inherent in this modality that subjects us to this inflicted formality, thus I invest all my faculties to dismantle these constraints of society, so pass me that Tek please and a few extra clips please. I'm on my way to practice some affirmative action and I'll be humming those old Negro spirituals each time I let the trigger go talkin' bout some: "How I got over", sho' look back and wonder how the fuck we took this shit for so long. My relief's been prolonged, my sanity's exhausted as the shit gets more caustic. We fostered this sickness for far too long.
Chorus:
Chorus: Po' some mo' that water as the shit rains down on me now, (they got me sweatin gin) the mo' it rains, the mo' I sweat, the mo' I sweat gin (they got me sweatin' gin)
(2x)
Goddamn, what's the recourse when discontent's the condition, when joy's a stingy exception, pressin' you to beckon so desperate for a glimpse of a blessin', the slightest breath of refreshment amidst the stifling omnipresent stress that promises no rest. I'm sure you could probably smell the residue of gin on my breath, detect the slurs in my speech and see the swerves in my steps, however, gaze in these glazed eyes and maybe you'll realize the place where my pain lies. I'm a product of oppression, iconic of how it affects us with obsessions for antiseptics and in the absence of an HMO, this fifth is like a therapy session to treat this posttraumatic stress disorder that toils my perception, and clarity's a blessing. Try to gather what's left of my sanity in spite of society dishin' these bullshit issues infecting my mind, bringin' me down, I'm just tryin' to get down for mine and rectify the plight of the people in time, but they don't wanna see me shine, they don't wanna see us rise, they'd rather see my demise and all my class confined.
Chorus:
Yeah, let your hair down and relieve yo' frustration, smoke some weed, get sedated, just say fuck it get wasted. It rains Seagram's in this basement, no chasers, I take that shit till the bottle's hollow and all I taste is orange peels and water. Good lord my pores perspire more fire water than crazy horse reflectin' on the course of affliction we all been forced to engage. This house was formed as a broken home with severed ties, childhood scars, the state of my family was sabotaged by Anglo-Saxon lies of happiness as it applies to Blackness, a subtle but harmful complex of double consciousness haunts us constantly so now we chase American dreams at the expense of our identity, dispensing the hope of unity and compromising our destiny. Maybe one day we'll awaken and seize our freedom and leave this anesthesia that's got us sleepwalking, killin' us softly, like a dormant giant poisoned and pacified with lies and yet to arise and open its eyes to unleash the fiery force repressed from ages of sordid torment and torture.
Chorus
Got me sweatin' gin now, got me sweatin' gin now, got me sweatin got me sweatin, got me sweatin gin now. (2x) Reminisce of days in Englewood, my back porch, getting' drunk and watchin' the sunset remorsing for the crack addict next door who died deserving so much more from life than 12 years on the pipe and 2 sons both serving double life. Damn, its like the shit so disturbin' hurts worse than words can say observin' these prodigies pass away and untapped talent go to waste which I see the world through a blurry gaze most days, too ashamed to shed tears, so I just sweat gin through the years waitin' for the lord to take me home fuck it. But that's that bullshit, that weak shit, that keeps shit so thick and makes us feel so powerless and bound without an alternative so fuck that. Until I collapse, until I'm no longer Black, my status remains a soldier in battle and ready to rise or die tryin'.
Chorus
Intro: Now they lay us down to sleep, and prey on us to enforce the peace. For all the lives you pigs take, 10 more of yours will die in there place. (Let us prey 2x)
His name was Michael Walker, Cabrini Green projects, you might not know him but Chicago Police do. October 27, 2001, the 13 th person killed by cops since 9/11, shot in the face in cold blood after being pistol whipped. And if that wasn't enough, they left his body to bleed for hours until the ambulance show (up). What's next, Anthony Baez, courtesy of the NYPD. Deep in the Bronx playing football with his family, harassed by the cops a struggle breaks out and he's choked to death. Another one's laid to rest. Or what about Margareritte Michell, a homeless women from L.A., shot in the back one day, for pushing her shopping cart away. What type of shit is this, how much is we gone take before we take control of the state, killing every muthafuckin cop that stands in our way? No more lawsuits or peaceful marches, its time to bare the arsenal. Get off your knees in supplication and pull them triggers for emancipation.
Chorus: (repeat) Let us Prey
And ya'll know Amadu Diallo, 41 bullets shot at him, 19 of them penetrating his flesh assuring his death. An African Immigrant who fit the description of those considered as Urban terrorists because of the hue of that their skin bares. They dropping us all ya'll, they popping us all off and the cops who do the shit get off not guilty, steadily be looking for reasons for probable cause. Legitimizing genocide as if it's a coincidence that Blacks and Latinos occupy the majority of penitentiary inhabitants as well as statistics for justified homicide, stolen lives by this vile as system. Frisk me for weapons of mass destruction cuz I'm coming through this muthafucka busting at every cop I see for Tiasha Miller, shot to death for being passed out in an SUV and Patrick Dorismond killed by the NYPD. Ice T in the late 80's, I'm a muthafuckin' cop killer.
Chorus:
Now they lay us down to sleep and prey on us to enforce the peace. It like the fuckin' slave days. These pigs are trained and paid to enforce the order of the state, make sure the lower classes stay in their place and the slaves stay in their chains and don't escape. Like Chub Dotson, killed in Watts, was hand cuffed when shot by cops who left his body to rot in the spot where they shot him for 12 hours still cuffed. That's fucked up the way we're targeted by the state's machinery. Picture the vigils and funerals of families mourning; the minister saying a new day will come in the morning as it's all apart of the Lord's plan forming. Fuck that! We need to be preying on our enemies instead of praying for our enemies. We need to be preying on our enemies instead of praying for our enemies.
Chorus:
My Contribution
Walk with me through the halls of history,
along the march of chained feet. Humanity's chained feet.
Hear the cries of misery, the songs of resistance and the whispers of conspiracy,
the plans for sedition, suicide missions contrived in desperation to relieve this agony.
See the unexpected ability of the afflicted
to mobilize in militancy to relieve their feet of these chains.
Reaching for an existence free from oppression and poverty,
a struggle against domination, male domination, racial domination, class domination,
a struggle for a sense of self worth in common with the global population,
a struggle that's only resolved through the common ownership of the earth
but first we must snatch by force the course of history
from those who distort and control our vision
those in high positions who make sure the prisons
are populated, and make sure that the imperialist occupation in nations
will have a duration for generations
in the name of home land security and global domination
And this here's my contribution to the struggle,
A struggle that's globally interwoven transcending the barriers
of nations and races and faces and occupations, situations.
From the 40,000 in Africa dying a day from AIDS,
to bothers and sisters in America facing a life time of incarceration.
From the hundreds of thousands of Latino immigrants marching in the streets for recognition of citizenship
To the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis killed to this day as a result of war and sanctions,
to the Palestinian children along the Gaza strip throwing stones at Israeli tanks,
this here's my contribution to the struggle.
From the children in Taiwan forced to choose between sweatshops and prostitution to the Maoist Guerilla forces in Nepal leading a people's war for revolution.
This here's my contribution to the struggle.
Ghana, Rwawanda, Peru, Fallujah, Watts, Chicago, Harlem, New Orleans
this here's my contribution to the struggle.
A struggle for emancipation that won't stop,
And until the cop locks me away for good,
this here's my contribution to the struggle.
Until hot slugs from a firing squad penetrate my vital organs,
And I take one to head by a CIA sniper standing on the roof top of a four story building,
The struggle, it will continue. And this here is my contribution
until the coroners prepare my body for the morgue,
and the world moves forward without a second thought of me,
or ever even knowing who I was,
even if yours are the only ears the ever hears these words,
this here's my contribution to the struggle,
this here's my contribution to the struggle, this here's my contribution to the struggle, this here's my contribution the struggle, this here's my contribution to the struggle...
Walkin' Bones (A Requiem)
Walk with me through middle passage and across the atlantic where over 40 million skulls and bones bleach in the current thrown from ships whose halls overflows with the calls and chants of lost warriors and stolen mothers, screechn' babies layin' in feces ailed by infections and diseases holding on until the shore is reached and their auctioned off like cattle, separated, disseminated, humiliated, a holocaust protracted over generations, a violent extraction of culture. No more orishas, you screamin' out Jesus as your flesh is penetrated by the lash of this whip, ankles chaffing from chains. Your name is Tobe now, not Kunta. You wanna escape to freedom but the terrain is to foreign, each day it grows more tortured until you take that sickled pitchfork and slaughter the master's family. The land quakes and the clouds bleed from the desperate cries unanswered by ancestors who don't rest in peace they keep on walking across the sea. I saw the bones rise up!
Chorus: Swing low sweet chariot (I saw the bones rise up!)
Emancipation is forged through course of a civil war and of course reconstruction and reparation is thwarted and smashed with the emergence of the Klan. So we're force to assume a situation similar to slavery, semi feudal relations, sharecropping plantations the great migration north facing new forms of discrimination seeking occupation. The ghetto is born, and songs of dreams deferred are sung millions. Tension rises as race riots erupt, mean while in the south lynching blacks becomes an American past time at picnics as pictures are taken for postcards and body parts are auctioned off. But they went too far with Emit Till, and caused a spark that shook apart America's racist fabric. Liberation movements headed by groups like the panthers brought the system to its knees and the powers that be learned to fear our capabilities. The contradiction of our tortured lineage is yet to be reconciled. The waters still scream aloud, and by the legions they march out provoking tears and awe at a sight as such. I saw the bones rise up!
The chronicles of discontent and struggle extend beyond the 60s well into the next millennium. What we seeing is 50 percent prison population the state is still obviously against us with intents of extermination as if we're the cancer to this national apparatus, the Achilles heel to this imperialist order, a global superpower propped on a pulpit of the sweat, bones and blood of slaves and native Americans. And it's been that way since we was brought to the shores in chains. The remains of our history points to a destiny free from oppression. The echoes of their travails, their uttered in despair, the subjects you incorporated into this web of exploitation, it all reasserts itself in various forms of resistance. It's only a matter of time before this class unites and becomes the antithesis of this empire. Only when that revolution occurs will the scorned and restless bones of millions be recompense and rest in peace. Yet until, they'll still rise, they'll still walk, they'll still march emerging from the sea.
Chorus:
Don't Cry For Me
Was like losing my religion as it all unfurled. I came to realize that the meaning of life entailed an altruistic contribution to humanity's well being, and it cost me the fantasies I once believed of a kingdom of heaven descending bringing restoration and reconciliation to the downtrodden inhabitants of the planet. My eyes were opened to the social reality underlying the fallacies presented by the system's functionality to placate us with antiseptics of perfect afterlife to subvert our rebellion to the present plights waiting for the return of Christ. Please spare me your tears and prayers I had to let go of the lies, and come face reality. And even if truth is blasphemy, knowing and using it will set us free
Chorus: (repeat) Don't cry for Me
I'm exposing this opiate of the masses known as religion cuz the power to change the conditions lies in the human potential once we dispense the illusion of omnipotent entity preordaining human history and supposedly the way things are meant to be. We don't need a divinity invented in the minds of men to achieve a world that we'd all wanna live in because precious need for a positive connection with the rest of the earth and for security in the random direction that life and reality unfurls is realized approaching the universe the way actually works. You might consider me a sinner for these sentiments I'm sending you, but your sympathy is minimal compared to the extent of my empathy intensity of my convictions
Chorus:
My beloved mother smothers herself in worries about the fate of my soul disconcerted about the path that I chose and gone cuz she knows she stands the chance of out living her first born. But my life and death toward the objective of global liberation is the least I can set forth waging war on the ruling agents of this system. I've seen too much affliction and been affiliated with too many victims of these parasitic and ominous social economic conditions; and I swear it squeezes a cup of blood out my heart every tear that my mama done shed on account of the strain and drama over the years that she done to bare. And I put it on my grandmama's grave and on the bones of forty million slaves I'll dedicate the rest of my days to the cause of liberation.
Chorus:
And when we step back and look at the long march of human history, we see a sea filled with horror but the same time possibility to extinguish the oppression, tradition, superstition that's kept humankind from tapping its potential as the pinnacle civil evolution. Picture the gratitude of future generations for all the contributions and sacrifices made. I ain't an idealist, but a realist which is why I can be fearless when confronting my mortality, when the fragmented elements of my consciousness transcends to exist as disembodied concepts living in the minds of millions, the lives that I've touched exponentially who will further influence the thrust of the social fabric toward a society so vibrant with freedom that there will be no need to believe in the stories of religions