Short Fuze

I don’t cry when cops die 
but you never ask why 
blue lives matter is a lie 
another sign of oppression 
disconnected from protection and service 
blue lights still make me nervous 
is this going to be my last breath 
sick of black death 
and the same old stories 
turned into blood orgies 
a bullet in our head, now you’re sorry 
all of sudden it’s some sort of allegory 
stuck in the doesn’t happen category 
if I show resistance 
I’m complicit in non compliance 
deserving of the violence 
it ain’t science 
cops exercise their right 
to keep us silent 
they wonder why we riot 
we’re dying on this non freedom diet 
White America wouldn’t dare try it 
now you know why I’m crying 
grieving for lost souls 
in nightmares underneath my eyelids

Sometimes I just want to 
do drugs and drink 
it's too hard to think 
madness on the brink 
the missing link 
skeletons emerge from the closet 
brain celibate dancing the devils mosh pit 
John Malkovich with a gun to my head 
in the cockpit 
counting down the clock ticks 
rain pours to wash away the toxins 
not knowing who God is 
grew up catholic chilling with convicts 
learning the block pitch 
dealers cutting up the drop ship 
definition of context 
money knots swelling up my pockets 
running from the darkness 
bullet proof dodging the glock kiss 
38 in the game of life still a novice 
verbalizing my written correspondence 
live from inner thought 
dead man walking amongst lost prophets 
backed in a corner running out of options

As the seasons changed 
so did my bastard frame 
began to masquerade the pain 
packed a faster blade 
for a long time death was certified 
never afraid to die, life verses time 
love had me blind 
written lines traveling the blue skies 
survived a summertime of lies 
reborn in the winter wars 
return to the trenches 
with Ghostface rifles in the kitchen 
freestyle sessions with my henchmen 
penning more bars than a prison sentence 
had me disconnected from this dimension 
at the mere mention 
of hitting astral planes, flame your brain 
hit the stage, taste of fame 
bag the change, bang the cage 
went from heartbroken to rap monster 
where I’m from, you talk shit 
we hit you with the pistol opera

I’m indelible sworn 
born from the fire that burned slow 
untouchable within my Company Flow 
load the chamber when my money gets low 
stone cold existence 
pain bleeds from the pen 
watch my soul get christened 
deadlights glisten, shot of adrenaline 
Pennywise specimen, shape shift acumen 
the first cuts accurate 
Rob Sonic Plaster Man 
Mr. Magic rap attack 
came up with bboys selling gats and crack 
out the backs of Cadillacs 
rehash the battle axe 
cooking up bbq and chaos 
98 Jordan in the playoffs 
Oz’s in paint cans 
selling hydroponic to white girls with spray tans 
smack the shit out of you 
like Sean Price adlibs on playback

They say I'm too old for this rap shit 
I'm just here to bring some balance to your actions 
went from stashing semi automatics underneath my mattress 
to under ground champion 
gangsta rap lit 
punishing you with bully rap clicks 
memory lane induces bad trips 
find salvation in the classics 
exit pain stage left, stay fresh, pray less but me and God still on a first name basis 
can see it on the prettiest of faces 
dedicated to the homies catching cases 
caged in the metal matrix 
you're in my graces on these pages 
without you I wouldn't have a chance to make it 
shape shift, spray clips 
weight lift the world off my shoulders 
give Destiny something to be proud of as she gets older 
money folder, surrounded by coffins and toasters 
name in lights, signing posters 
living life how I'm supposed to 
cinematic vision, not in the material sense 
but in the literal sense 
to have my spiritual blessed 

Happy new year depression 
it’s just me and you again 
finding new ways to explore the connection 
generosity what is it? 
is it mom cooking for strangers in the kitchen? 
is it one day without pain and sickness?
fighting to survive the new version of mankind 
working full time struggling to pay my bills, popping pills, faith kills 
went from heavy thinker to heavy drinker 
once again on the brink of suicide 
darkness paints realms inside my mind 
violent by design unless I find something to supplement my next high 
fighting time, struggling to stay alive 
back to the point I don’t believe there’s a god 
don’t you think that’s kind of odd 
since I’ve spent years talking about the strength of our bond? 
gone baby gone is the illusion of freedom of expression 
making America great again 
through systematic oppression 
arrogance stopped us from taking heed to previous lessons 
ostrich heads buried in the sand 
until the epidemic scurried in the hands of those not affected 
murders of my people where considered clandestine 
until cellphones popped the pandemic 
finally did America believe these klans meant it 
generations lusting off the blood fetish 
cultural appropriation took away our one weapon 
well, I got my guns loaded come get it 
let the bullets fly 
I love my people, bear witness 
I won’t stop until we’re cured of the sickness 
and the oppressors recognize our image

Chicago Bullish 
tattooed in the name of Chicago bullets 
Chicago ruthless 
blood stained with Gods aim 
disdain for Gods name 
display my inner Gods pain 
for Gods sake 
who does God thank 
when the winds of change reign 
forcing my face an odd blank 
I walk this odd plank 
screaming at the skies 
with Gods rage 
turn with Gods page 
pray where God lays 
played in Gods day 
happy in plans God laid 
tapping into Gods vein 
smoking out Gods strain 
using faith to act out Gods play 
it all works out in Gods way 
praise to Yawah 
live from the inferno of Dante

Summon the many arms of Vishnu
to illustrate what I been through
born from a crippled stencil
automated Denku tenchu
walk with so much end view
people ask which God sent you
world’s built on penciled lectures
submerged in clockwork textures
so the masses don’t forget you
words Ginsu stick you
to the point the hands of fate won’t stitch you
mutilated cuts over Nasa’s instrumental temper
the previously expressed views represent Fuze 
anything else is a flagrant fuck you
like when El Producto was shakin’ Russell
or when Kimora was takin’ Russell’s pape and hustle
suck it ride ride the snake head muscle
in IPod’s I’m God
uncivilized like Jews scribin’ Muhammad’s face in krylon
eating pigs in eye shot
rockin’ Mein Kamph
screamin’ my God this is what I’m on
from the top of Mt. Zion
battling Jesus Christ and Dylon draped in Izod
cross the pylon 7 points
like when 85 percent find God
my career won’t be defined by nine shots
lifter of gall to elevate a brawl
will the gangsters pop off?
Naw I don’t think they got the balls
bullet casings tappin’ your jaw
until my thumb compresses gun powder into your skull
defying physical law leaving onlookers in awe 

I speak through revelations of man
to withstand the pressure of granite and sand
stained glass cuts the prophets hand
blood becomes toxic dislodging DNA strands
turnin’ Yaway to man
and for a moment my soul was hemoglobin
stolen where the remedies to destroy mythological enemies
which became amenities to put men at ease
then turn around and make the word of God an obscenity
makin’ the planet a universal centerpiece for sinful pedigrees
humanity rock carves, the rock starves
my shadow has no choice but to lounge under dog stars
waiting to shed some light on my insight
shove a knife through my eye socket
so my mind gets the point
anoint the circumference of world a perfect circle
summoning enough inertia to bring down
three dimensional sunspots to burn you
with no where to turn to
your views blistered in discontent during winter
like homeless alcoholics juggling bursting vodka bottles over exposed livers
shiver at the thought of normality
the heavens patterned me at the peak mastery
in kings majesty making my earth eclectic
birthing my music soul child
somewhere between the gangsta era and Afro centric

Dear journal my outlook has become nocturnal
with nothing to turn to spiritualism is segregated
wondering if the entrance to heaven is gated
or is inner peace exaggerated?
walkin’ with castrated brain matter
calculating deaths data into physical matter
wanting it the moment after
masqueraded declaration of struggle
secreted from amniotic muscle
vaginal walls begin to crumble
giving my eyes something to sun to
words of expression are muffled from artistic hustle
as the power of God comes through
the world just assumes then deducts you
while previous beliefs you’ve run to shun you 
minuscule ridicule is burden of genius
in my dreamin’ I team with demons
to slap the be Jesus out Christ
with the might of mankind
to give him insight on what its like
to live a life inside his light
falling off the pedestal
readies you to be tailored for failure through anger
then turn around and praise her
for favors from the saviors you’ve already alienated
not realizing you’ve cut off your ears to think in silence
close your eyes and see the world the way God designed it 

I’ve blown out the 24th candle on my birthday cake
to calculate the weight of mistakes
made against the world that ain’t
riding the faint taste of fate
as happiness escapes each time my heart palpitates
scowl in amazement at the smiling faces
that strayed from my graces on my training day
applaud change but I’m afraid
I’ve missed my opportunity to gain a leg on the human race
tainted pages paced with patience
parallel with endangered statements
paraded by abrasive language
ending the novel idea/ that I’m a descendant of Pangaea
I see a beacon of glimmer
as holy water simmers in sinners
as scriptured pictures become what my life is framed in
I walk in a misshapen body
oddly enough my tear ducts/ scream I don’t give a fuck
tears of joy deploy for a boy who’s become a man
has yet to understand God’s plan
that was predated when his soul took a vacation in the physical Matrix
and got caged in my hope floats

I awoke somewhere between the war of ambition
teetering on the line of fact and fiction
getting burned by the friction
of self savior and victim
enriched with not so God like decisions
birthed within the laws written
plagued by the infinite question
whether religion is a creation of God?
or is God a creation of religion?
to keep us livin’ in the perforated image
christened in our own obsession and sickness
pushin’ the limits conjured by existence
life is a game of inches
but its hard to move forward
when you lack the vision
to judge the distance to the finish
a dishwasher in Hell’s kitchen
drowning in black holes
once covered by my burned bridges
walk a mile in my shoes
if my angels permit it
consumed by daily pace
getting a leg up in the human race
do my features still describe a human face?
capable of human grace?
wondering if I put my heart again
will there be someone who takes?
chase my convictions of spiritualism
didn’t inherit my fathers alcoholism
but I got his rage and pain
coursing through my veins
his muted traits is what my music makes
hold it back and let my dreams react
to the ghost of the man in black 

Open time, open door
open mind, open sore
open scheme, broken dreams
broken breathe, don’t feed the machine

This one goes out to my biological father
who didn’t bother after takin’ my mother to the alter
sought to destroy his creations
pushing women to devastation
forcin’ them to touch elevation
rethinkin’ the scope of the presentation
separation all in a blink
lost soul in the drink reflect in the sink
oldest son on the brink of drugs and jewelry
back then that’s what suited me
listeners will understand if they knew
how the hunger pain were doing me
I thought weed, sneakers and women
were the proof of me
til friends were murdered brutally
bullet wounds shook in me
that the hand of God wasn’t movin’ me
now I’m cruisin’ streets with my grandmothers wisdom
she said not to be a victim of the system
be the voice of the people
shine the worded image on their sickness
show the children there’s more to life
than hustlin’ in front of buildings
there’s lots of things in the world that can kill them
that the world can build them
if they let go the feeling of the ceiling
and bring a difference element
with my last will and testament
this ones dedicated to my wastelands brethren
I’m sorry our music didn’t do a better job to better men
I guess the world wasn’t ready to take the medicine