Blackalicious – “Alphabet Aerobics” (1999)

(Now it’s time for our wrap up
Let’s give it everything we’ve got
Ready? Begin)

Artificial amateurs, aren’t at all amazing
Analytically, I assault, animate things
Broken barriers bounded by the bomb beat
Buildings are broken, basically I’m bombarding
Casually create catastrophes, casualties
Canceling cats, got they canopies collapsing
Detonate a dime of dank daily doin’ dough
Demonstrations, Don Dada on the down low
Eating other editors with each and every energetic epileptic episodeelevated etiquette
Furious, fat, fabulous, fantastic
Flurries of funk felt, feeding the fanatics
Gift got great, global goods gone glorious
Gettin’ godly in this game with the goriest
Hit em high, hella height, historical
Hey holocaust hints, hear ‘em holler at your homeboy
Imitators idolize, I intimidate
In an instant, I’ll rise in an irate state
Juiced on my jams like Jheri curls jocking joints
Justly, it’s just me, writing my journals
Kindly I’m kindling all kinds of ink on
Karate kick type Brits in my kingdom
Let me live a long life, lyrically lessons is
Learned lame louses just lose to my livery
My mind makes marvelous moves, masses
Marvel and move, many mock what I’ve mastered
Niggas nap knowing I’m nice, naturally
Knack, never lack, make noise nationally
Operation, opposition, off, not optional
Out of sight, out of mind, wide beaming opticals
Perfected poem, powerful punchlines
Pummeling petty powder puffs in my prime
Quite quaint quotes keep quiet it’s Quannum
Quarrelers ain’t got a quarter of what we got, uh
Really raw raps, risin up rapidly
Riding the rushing radioactivity
Super scientifical sound search sought
Silencing super fire saps that are soft
Tales ten times talented, too tough
Take that, challengers, get a tune up
Universal, unique, untouched
Unadulterated, the raw uncut
Verb vice lord victorious valid
Violate vibes that are vain make em vanish
Why in my world would a wise wordsmith just
Weaving up words, weeded up on my workshift
Xerox my X-radiation holes extra large
X-height letters and xylophone tones
Yellow-back, yak mouth, young ones’ yaws
Yesterday’s lawn yardsale, I yawn
Zig-Zag zombies, zooming to the zenith
Zero in, zen thoughts, overzealous rhyme ZEA-LOTS!….

(Good… can you say it faster?)

Mona Van Duyn – “What The Motorcycle Said” (1973)

Br-r-ram-m-m, rackety-am-m, OM, Am:
All-r-r-room, r-r-ram, ala-bas-ter-
Am, the world’s my oyster.

I hate plastic, wear it black and slick,
hate hardhats, wear one on my head,
that’s what the motorcycle said.

Passed phonies in Fords, knocked down billboards, landed
on the other side of The Gap, and Whee,
bypassed history.

When I was born (The Past), baby knew best.
They shook when I bawled, took Freud’s path,
threw away their wrath.

R-r-rackety-am-m. Am. War, rhyme,
soap, meat, marriage, the Phantom Jet
are shit, and like that.

Hate pompousness, punishment, patience, am into Love,
hate middle-class moneymakers, live on Dad,
that’s what the motorcycle said.

Br-r-r-am-m-m. It’s Nowsville, man. Passed Oldies, Uglies,
Straighties, Honkies. I’ll never be
mean, tired, or unsexy.

Passed cigarette suckers, souses, mother-fuckers,
losers, went back to Nature and found
how to get VD, stoned.

Passed a cow, too fast to hear her moo, “I rolled
our leaves of grass into one ball.
I am the grassy All.”

Br-r-r-am-m-m, rackety-am-m, OM, Am:
All-gr-r-rin, oooohgah, gl-l-utton-
Am, the world’s my smilebutton.

Linh Dinh – “Quiz” (2005)

Invaders invariably call themselves:
a) berserkers
b) marauders
c) frankincense
d) liberators

Our enemies hate us because:
a) we’re sadists
b) we’re hypocrites
c) we shafted them
d) we value freedom

Our friends hate us because:
a) we’re bullies
b) we hate them
c) we’re hypocrites
d) we value freedom

Pushed to the ground and kicked by a gang of soldiers, about to be shot, you can save your life by brandishing:
a) an uzi
b) a crucifix
c) the Constitution
d) a poem

A poem can:
a) start a war
b) stanch a wound
c) titillate the masses
d) shame a nation

Poets are:
a) clowns
b) parasites
c) legislators
d) terrorists

A nation’s standing in the world is determined by:
a) its buying power
b) its military might
c) its cultural heritage
d) God

A country is rich because of:
a) its enlightened population
b) its political system
c) its small stick
d) its geography

A country is poor because of:
a) its ignorant population
b) its political system
c) its small stick
d) its geography

A man’s dignity is determined by:
a) his appearance (skin color, height, etc)
b) his willingness to use violence
c) his command of English
d) his blue passport

Those willing to die for their beliefs are:
a) idealists
b) terrorists
c) suckers
d) insane

Those willing to die for nothing are:
a) principled
b) patriotic
c) insane
d) cowards

Terrorists:
a) abuse language
b) hit and run
c) shock and awe
d) rely on ingenuity

Smart weapons:
a) render hopeless and dormant kinetic objects
b) kill softly
c) save lives
d) slaughter by science

Pain is:
a) payback for evil-doers
b) a common misfortune
c) compelling drama
d) suck it up!

Humiliation is:
a) the ultimate thrill for bored perverts
b) inevitable in an unequal relationship
c) a fear factor
d) sexy and cathartic

The media’s job is:
a) to seduce
b) to spread
c) to sell
d) to drug

The Internet:
a) allows us to be pure minds
b) connects us to distant bodies
c) disconnects us from the nearest minds and bodies
d) improves illiteracy

Pornography is:
a) a lie that exposes the truth
b) a needed breather from civilization
c) class warfare
d) nostalgia for the garden of Eden

Correct answers: c,d,d,b,b,a,b,a,a,c,b,b,b,c,b,d,b,d,c.
—If you scored 14-19, you’re a well adjusted person, a home-owner, with and income of at least $50,000 a year.
—If you scored 8-13, you either rent or live with your parents, never exercise, and consume at least a 6-pack a day.
—if you scored 7 or less, you’re in trouble with the FBI and/or the IRS, cut your own hair, and use public transit as your primary mode of transportation.

Daddy Dozens by Jamila Woods

My Daddy’s forehead is so big, we don’t need a dining room
table. My Daddy’s forehead so big, his hat size is equator. So
big, it’s a five-head. Tyra Banks burst into tears when she seen
my Daddy’s forehead. My Daddy’s forehead got its own area code.
My Daddy baseball cap got stretch marks. My Daddy pillowcase
got craters. His eyebrows need GPS to find each other. My Daddy
forehead lives in two time zones. Planets confuse my Daddy forehead
for the sun. Couch cushions lose quarters in the wrinkles in my Daddy
forehead. My Daddy so smart, he fall asleep with the movie on and
wake up soon as the credits start to roll. My Daddy so smart, he
perform surgery on his own ingrown toenail. Momma was not
impressed, but my Daddy got brains. My Daddy know exactly
how to drive me to my friend’s house without lookin at no map.
My Daddy born here, he so smart, he know the highways like
the wrinkles in his forehead. He know the free clinics like the gray
hairs on his big ass head. My Daddy so smart, he wear a stethoscope
and a white coat. My Daddy drive to work in a minivan only slightly
bigger than his forehead, that’s just how my Daddy rolls. My Daddy
got swag. My Daddy dance to “Single Ladies” in the hallway.
My Daddy drink a small coffee cream and sugar. My Daddy
drink a whole can of Red Bull. My Daddy eat a whole pack
of sour Skittles and never had a cavity. My Daddy so smart,
he got a pullout couch in his office. Got a mini fridge there too.
Got a cell phone, and a pager, and a email address where I can leave
him messages when he’s not at home. My Daddy’s not home.
Momma saves a plate that turns cold.

But when my Daddy does come home, he got a office
in his bedroom too. Computer screen night light,
Momma says she can’t sleep right, but my Daddy
got work, my Daddy at work, at home, in the attic,
with the TV on, in the dark, from the front yard,
through the windows, you can see him working, glass
flickering, my house got its own forehead, glinting, sweaty,
in the evening, while my Daddy at work, at home,
in his own area code,

a whole other time zone.

PUSSY MONSTER by Franny Choi

from Lil’ Wayne’s “Pussy Monster,” rearranged in order of frequency.

for flu food bowl stood no more soup remove spoon drink juice salt pepper heard well cool job blow bet mic check how don’t have clue but find show tell lift top lip smell swallow spit every time goes get call Dracula vacuum catfish fish cat tuna smack flip spatula lil runnin so tackle baby be worm apple butt go backin front throw black Acura been this game actress told action cameras lookin hope yeah where know rain hurricane imagine did pearl talk jump here hi taste taste what what cold cold suck suck hot hot blew blew there there one one two two still still put put face face reason reason why why mama mama need need stay stay gotta gotta survive survive let let up up throw throw on on words words better better comin comin could could tongue tongue with with over over over out out out she she she eat eat eat feed feed feed walk walk walk got got got wanna wanna wanna make make make make do do do do your your your your just just just just when when when when in in in in if if if if can can can can I’ma I’ma I’ma I’ma it’s it’s it’s it’s I’m I’m I’m I’m alive alive alive alive of of of of of cause cause cause cause cause now now now now now her her her her her I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll like like like like like like a a a a a a that that that that that that that that girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl my my my my my my my my my monster monster monster monster monster monster monster monster monster to to to to to to to to to to to to and and and and and and and and and and and and and it it it it it it it it it it it it it me me me me me me me me me me me me me the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy

Killer Mike – “Reagan” (2012)

[Sample: Ronald Reagan]
Our government has a firm policy not to capitulate to terrorist demands. That no-concessions policy remains in force, despite the wildly speculative and false stories about arms for hostages and alleged ransom payments, we did not, repeat, did not trade weapons or anything else for hostages, nor will we.

The ballot or the bullet, some freedom or some bullshit
Will we ever do it big, or keep just settling for little shit?
We brag on having bread, but none of us are bakers
We all talk having greens, but none of us own acres
If none of us own acres, and none of us grow wheat
Then who will feed our people when our people need to eat
So it seems our people starve from lack of understanding
Cause all we seem to give them is some balling and some dancing
And some talking about our car and imaginary mansions
We should be indicted for bullshit we inciting
Hand the children death and pretend that it’s exciting
We are advertisements for agony and pain
We exploit the youth, we tell them to join a gang
We tell them dope stories, introduce them to the game
Just like Oliver North introduced us to cocaine
In the 80’s when the bricks came on military planes

[Sample: Ronald Reagan]
A few months ago I told the American people I did not trade arms for hostages. My heart and my best intentions still tell me that’s true, but the facts and the evidence tell me it is not

The end of the Reagan Era, I’m like ‘leven, twelve, or
Old enough to understand the shit’ll change forever
They declared the war on drugs like a war on terror
But it really did was let the police terrorize whoever
But mostly black boys, but they would call us “niggers”
And lay us on our belly, while they fingers on they triggers
They boots was on our head, they dogs was on our crotches
And they would beat us up if we had diamonds on our watches
And they would take our drugs and money, as they pick our pockets
I guess that that’s the privilege of policing for some profit
But thanks to Reaganomics, prisons turned to profits
Cause free labor is the cornerstone of US economics
Cause slavery was abolished, unless you are in prison
You think I am bullshitting, then read the 13th Amendment
Involuntary servitude and slavery it prohibits
That’s why they giving drug offenders time in double digits
Ronald Reagan was an actor, not at all a factor
Just an employee of the country’s real masters
Just like the Bushes, Clinton and Obama
Just another talking head telling lies on teleprompters
If you don’t believe the theory, then argue with this logic
Why did Reagan and Obama both go after Qaddafi
We invaded sovereign soil, going after oil
Taking countries is a hobby paid for by the oil lobby
Same as in Iraq, and Afghanistan
And Ahmadinejad say they coming for Iran
They only love the rich, and how they loathe the poor
If I say any more they might be at my door
(Shh..) Who the fuck is that staring in my window
Doing that surveillance on Mr. Michael Render
I’m dropping off the grid before they pump the lead
I leave you with four words: I’m glad Reagan dead

Tillie Olsen – “I Want You Women Up North To Know” (1934)

(Based on a Letter by Felipe Ibarro in New Masses January 9th, 1934)

i want you women up north to know
how those dainty children’s dresses you buy
at macy’s wannamakers, gimbels, marshall fields,
are dyed in blood, are stitched in wasting flesh,
down in San Antonio, “where sunshine spends the winter.”

I want you women up north to see
the obsequious smile, the salesladies trill
“exquisite work, madame, exquisite pleats”
vanish into a bloated face, ordering more dresses,
gouging the wages down,
dissolve into maria, ambrosa, catalina,
stitching these dresses from dawn to night,
In blood, in wasting flesh.

Catalina Rodriguez, 24,
body shrivelled to a child’s at twelve,
catalina rodriguez, last stages of consumption,
works for three dollars a week from dawn to midnight.
A fog of pain thickens over her skull, the parching heat
breaks over her body,
and the bright red blood embroiders the floor of her room.
White rain stitching the night, the bourgeois poet would say.
white gulls of hands, darting, veering,
white lightning, threading the clouds,
this is the exquisite dance of her hands over the cloth,
and her cough, gay, quick, staccato,
like skeleton’s bones clattering,
is appropriate accompaniment for the esthetic dance
of her fingers,
and the tremolo, tremolo when the hands tremble with pain.

Three dollars a week,
two fifty-five,
seventy cents a week,
no wonder two thousand eight hundred ladies of joy
are spending the winter with the sun after he goes down—
five cents (who said this was a rich man’s world?) you can
get all the lovin you want
“clap and syph aint much worse than sore fmgers, blind eyes, and t.b.”

Maria Vasquez, spinster,
for fifteen cents a dozen stitches garments for children she
has never had,
Catalina Torres, mother of four,
to keep the starved body starvng, embroiders from dawn to night.
Mother of four, what does she think of,
as the needle pocked fingers shift over the silk—
the stubble-coarse rags that stretch on her own brood,
and jut with the bony ridge that marks hunger’s landscape
of fat little prairie-roll bodies that will bulge in the
silk she needles?
(Be not envious, Catalina Torres, look!
on your own children’s clothing, embroidery,
more intricate than any a thousand hands could fashion,
there where the cloth is ravelled, or darned,
designs, multitudinous, complex and handmade by Poverty herself.)

Ambrosa Espinoza trusts in god,
“Todos es de dios, everything is from god,”
through the dwindling night, the waxing day, she bolsters
herself up with it—
the pennies to keep god incarnate, from ambrosa,
and the pennies to keep the priest in wine, from ambrosa,
ambrosa clothes god and priest with hand-made children’s dresses.

Her brother lies on an iron cot, all day and watches,
on a mattress of rags he lies.
For twenty-five years he worked for the railroad, then they laid him off.
(racked days, searching for work; rebuffs; suspicious eyes of policemen.
goodbye arnbrosa, mebbe in dallas I find work; desperate swing
for a freight,
surprised hands, clutching air, and the wheel goes over a leg,
the railroad cuts it off, as it cut off twenty-five years of his life. )
She says that he prays and dreams of another world, as he lies
there, a heaven (which he does not know was brought to
earth in 1917 in Russia, by workers like him).

Women up north, I want you to know
when you finger the exquisite hand-made dresses
what it means, this working from dawn to midnight,
on what strange feet the feverish dawn must come
to maria, catalina, ambrosa,
how the malignant fingers twitching over the pallid faces jerk them to work,
and the sun and the fever mount with the day—
long plodding hours, the eyes bum like coals, heat jellies the
flying fingers,
down comes the night like blindness.
long hours more with the dim eye of the lamp, the breaking back,
weariness crawls in the flesh like worms, gigantic like earth’s in winter.
And for Catalina Rodriguez comes the night sweat and the blood
embroidering the darkness.
for Catalina Torres the pinched faces of four huddled children,
the naked bodies of four bony children,
the chant of their chorale of hunger.
And for twenty eight hundred ladies of joy the grotesque act gone over-
the wink-the grimace-the “feeling like it baby?”
And for Maria Vasquez, spinster, emptiness, emptiness,
flaming with dresses for children she can never fondle.
And for Ambrosa Espinoza-the skeleton body of her brother on his mattress
of rags, boring twin holes in the dark with his eyes to the image of christ,
remembering a leg, and twenty five years cut off from his life by the railroad.

Women up north, I want you to know,
I tell you this can’t last forever.

I swear it won’t.