Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five – “The Message”

It’s like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from going under

Broken glass everywhere
People pissing on the stairs, you know they just don’t care
I can’t take the smell, can’t take the noise
Got no money to move out, I guess I got no choice
Rats in the front room, roaches in the back
Junkies in the alley with a baseball bat
I tried to get away but I couldn’t get far
Cause a man with a tow truck repossessed my car

Don’t push me ‘cause I’m close to the edge
I’m trying not to lose my head
It’s like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from going under

Standing on the front stoop hanging out the window
Watching all the cars go by, roaring as the breezes blow
Crazy lady, living in a bag
Eating out of garbage pails, used to be a fag hag
Said she’ll dance the tango, skip the light fandango
A Zircon princess seemed to lost her senses
Down at the peep show watching all the creeps
So she can tell her stories to the girls back home
She went to the city and got social security
She had to get a pimp, she couldn’t make it on her own

My brother’s doing bad, stole my mother’s TV
Says she watches too much, it’s just not healthy
All My Children in the daytime, Dallas at night
Can’t even see the game or the Sugar Ray fight
The bill collectors, they ring my phone
And scare my wife when I’m not home
Got a bum education, double-digit inflation
Can’t take the train to the job, there’s a strike at the station
Neon King Kong standing on my back
Can’t stop to turn around, broke my sacroiliac
A mid-range migraine, cancered membrane
Sometimes I think I’m going insane
I swear I might hijack a plane!

My son said, Daddy, I don’t wanna go to school
‘Cause the teacher’s a jerk, he must think I’m a fool
And all the kids smoke reefer, I think it’d be cheaper
If I just got a job, learned to be a street sweeper
Or dance to the beat, shuffle my feet
Wear a shirt and tie and run with the creeps
‘Cause it’s all about money, ain’t a damn thing funny
You got to have a con in this land of milk and honey
They pushed that girl in front of the train
Took her to the doctor, sewed her arm on again
Stabbed that man right in his heart
Gave him a transplant for a brand new start
I can’t walk through the park ‘cause it’s crazy after dark
Keep my hand on my gun ‘cause they got me on the run
I feel like a outlaw, broke my last glass jaw
Hear them say “You want some more?”
Living on a see-saw

A child is born with no state of mind
Blind to the ways of mankind
God is smiling on you but he’s frowning too
Because only God knows what you’ll go through
You’ll grow in the ghetto living second-rate
And your eyes will sing a song called deep hate
The places you play and where you stay
Looks like one great big alleyway
You’ll admire all the number-book takers
Thugs, pimps and pushers and the big money-makers
Driving big cars, spending twenties and tens
And you’ll wanna grow up to be just like them, huh
Smugglers, scramblers, burglars, gamblers
Pickpocket peddlers, even panhandlers
You say “I’m cool, huh, I’m no fool”
But then you wind up dropping outta high school
Now you’re unemployed, all null and void
Walking round like you’re Pretty Boy Floyd
Turned stick-up kid, but look what you done did
Got sent up for a eight-year bid
Now your manhood is took and you’re a Maytag
Spend the next two years as a undercover fag
Being used and abused to serve like hell
Til one day, you was found hung dead in the cell
It was plain to see that your life was lost
You was cold and your body swung back and forth
But now your eyes sing the sad, sad song
Of how you lived so fast and died so young so

William Blake – “London”

I wander thro’ each charter’d street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every Infant’s cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every blackning church appalls;
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot’s curse
Blasts the new-born Infant’s tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

TRIGGER WARNING: “Dance with the Devil” by Immortal Technique contains graphic material including descriptions of sexual violence.

Immortal Technique – “Dance with the Devil”

I once knew a nigga whose real name was William
His primary concern was making a million
Being the illest hustler that the world ever seen
He used to fuck movie stars and sniff coke in his dreams
A corrupted young mind at the age of thirteen
Nigga never had a father and his mom was a fiend
She put the pipe down, but for every year she was sober
Her son’s heart simultaneously grew colder
He started hanging out selling bags in the projects
Checking the young chicks, looking for hit and run prospects
He was fascinated by material objects
But he understood money never bought respect
He built a reputation cause he could hustle and steal
But got locked once and didn’t hesitate to squeal
So criminals he chilled with didn’t think he was real
You see, me and niggas like this have never been equal
I don’t project my insecurities in other people
He fiended for props like addicts with pipes and needles
So he felt he had to prove to everyone he was evil
A feeble-minded young man with infinite potential
The product of a ghetto-bred capitalistic mental
Coincidentally dropped out of school to sell weed
Dancing with the devil, smoked until his eyes would bleed
But he was sick of selling trees and gave in to his greed

Everyone trying to be trife never face the consequences
You probably only did a month for minor offenses
Ask a nigga doing life if he had another chance
But then again there’s always the wicked that knew in advance
Dance forever with the devil on a cold cell block
But that’s what happens when you rape, murder and sell rock
Devils used to be God’s angels that fell from the top
There’s no diversity because we’re burning in the melting pot

So Billy started robbing niggas, anything he could do
To get his respect back in the eyes of his crew
Starting fights over little shit up on the block
Stepped up to selling mothers and brothers the crack rock
Working overtime for making money for the crack spot
Hit the jackpot and wanted to move up to cocaine
Fulfilling the Scarface fantasy stuck in his brain
Tired of the block niggas treating him the same
He wanted to be major like the cut throats and the thugs
But when he tried to step to ‘em, niggas showed him no love
They told him any motherfucking coward can sell drugs
Any bitch nigga with a gun can bust slugs
Any nigga with a red shirt can front like a blood
Even Puffy smoked the motherfucker up in a club
But only a real thug can stab someone ‘til they die
Standing in front of them, staring straight into their eyes
Billy realized that these men were well guarded
And they wanted to test him before business started
Suggested raping a bitch to prove he was cold hearted
So now he had a choice between going back to his life
Or making money with made men up in the cyph’
His dreams about cars and ice made him agree
A hardcore nigga is all he ever wanted to be
And so he met them Friday night at a quarter to three

They drove around the projects slow while it was raining
Smoking blunts, drinking and joking for entertainment
Until they saw a woman on the street walking alone
Three in the morning, coming back from work, on her way home
And so they quietly got out the car and followed her
Walking through the projects, the darkness swallowed her
They wrapped her shirt around her head and knocked her onto the floor
“This is it, kid, now you got your chance to be raw”
So Billy yoked her up and grabbed the chick by the hair
And dragged her into a lobby that had nobody there
She struggled hard, but they forced her to go up the stairs
They got to the roof and then held her down on the ground
Screaming “Shut the fuck up and stop moving around”
The shirt covered her face, but she screamed and clawed
So Billy stomped on the bitch until he had broken her jaw
The dirty bastards knew exactly what they were doing
They kicked her until they cracked her ribs and she stopped moving
Blood leaking through the cloth, she cried silently
And then they all proceeded to rape her violently
Billy was made to go first, but each of them took a turn
Ripping her up and choking her until her throat burned
Her broken jaw mumbled for God, but they weren’t concerned
When they were done and she was lying bloody, broken and bruised
One of them niggas pulled out a brand new twenty-two
They told him that she was a witness of what she’d gone through
And if he killed her, he was guaranteed a spot in the crew
He thought about it for a minute, she was practically dead
And so he leaned over and put the gun right to her head

Right before he pulled the trigger and ended her life
He thought about the cocaine with the platinum and ice
And he felt strong standing along with his new brothers
Cocked the gat to her head and pulled back the shirt cover
But what he saw made him start to cringe and stutter
Cause he was staring into the eyes of his own mother
She looked back at him and cried, cause he had forsaken her
She cried more painfully than when they were raping her
His whole world stopped, he couldn’t even contemplate
His corruption had successfully changed his fate
And he remembered how his mom used to come home late
Working hard for nothing, cause now what was he worth?
He turned away from the woman that had once given him birth
And crying out to the sky cause he was lonely and scared
But only the devil responded, cause God wasn’t there
And right then, he knew what it was to be empty and cold
And so he jumped off the roof and died with no soul
They say death takes you to a better place, but I doubt it
After that, they killed his mother, and never spoke about it
And listen, cause the story that I’m telling is true
Cuz I was there with Billy Jacobs, and I raped his mom, too
And now the devil follows me everywhere that I go
In fact, I’m sure he’s standing among one of you at my shows
And every street cypher listening to little thugs flow
He could be standing right next to you, and you wouldn’t know
The devil grows inside the hearts of the selfish and wicked
White, brown, yellow and black; color is not restricted
You have a self destructive destiny when you’re inflicted
And you’ll be one of God’s children that fell from the top
There’s no diversity because we’re burning in the melting pot
So when the devil wants to dance with you, you better say never
Because the dance with the devil might last you forever

Marge Piercy – “Barbie Doll”

This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.

She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.

In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker’s cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn’t she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.

The Notorious B.I.G. – “Gimme The Loot”

Yeah, mothafuckas better know (I’m a bad bad bad)
Lock your windows, close your doors, Biggie Smalls

My man Inf left a Tec and a 9 at my crib
Turned his self in, he had to do a bid
A 1-to-3, he be home the end of ‘93
I’m ready to get this paper, G: you with me?

Motherfucking right, my pockets looking kinda tight
And I’m stressed
Yo, Biggie let me get the vest

No need for that, just grab the fucking gat
The first pocket that’s fat, the Tec is to his back
Word is bond, I’mma smoke him, yo, don’t fake no moves (what?)
Treat it like boxing, stick and move, stick and move

Nigga, you ain’t got to explain shit
I’ve been robbing motherfuckas since the slave ships
With the same clip and the same .45
Two point blank, a motherfucker sure to die
That’s my word, nigga even try to bogart
Have his mother singing, it’s so hard

Yes love, love your fucking attitude
Because the nigga play pussy, that’s the nigga that’s getting screwed
And bruised up from the pistol whipping
Welts on the neck from the necklace stripping
Then I’m dipping up the block and I’m robbing bitches too
Up the herringbones and bamboos
I wouldn’t give a fuck if you’re pregnant
Give me the baby rings and the #1 Mom pendant

I’m slamming niggas like Shaquille, shit is real
When it’s time to eat a meal, I rob and steal
Cause mom dukes ain’t giving me shit
So for the bread and butter I leave niggas in the gutter
Huh, word to mother, I’m dangerous
Crazier than a bag of fucking angel dust
When I bust my Gat, mothafuckas take dirt naps
I’m all that, and a dime sack, where the paper at?

[Interlude]

Big up, big up, it’s a stick up, stick up
And I’m shooting niggas quick if ya hiccup
Don’t let me fill my clip up in ya back and headpiece
The opposite of peace, sending Mom duke a wreath
You’re talking to the robbery expert
Step into your wake with your blood on my shirt
Don’t be a jerk and get smoked over being resistant
Cause when I lick shots, them shits is persistent

Goodness gracious, the papers!
Where the cash at? Where the stash at?
Nigga pass that
Before you get your grave dug from the main thug .357 slug
And my nigga Biggie got a itchy one grip

One in the chamber, thirty-two in the clip
Motherfuckas better strip, (yeah nigga, peel)
Before you find out how blue steel feel

From the Beretta, putting all the holes in ya sweater
The money-getter, motherfuckas don’t know better
Rolex watches and colorful Swatches
I’m digging in pockets, motherfuckas can’t stop it

Man niggas come through I’m taking high school rings too
Bitches get strangled for their earrings and bangles
And when I rock her and drop her, I’m taking her doorknockers
And if she’s resistant: blakka, blakka, blakka

So go get your man bitch, he can get robbed too

Tell him Biggie took it, what the fuck he gonna do?
Man I hope apologetic or I’m a have to set it
And if I set it, the cocksucker won’t forget it

[Interlude]
Man listen, all this walking is hurting my feet
Ooh money looks sweet

Where?

In the Isuzu jeep

Man, I throw him in the fiend you grab the fucking cream
And if he start to scream, bom bom, have a nice dream
Hold up, he got a fucking bitch in the car
Fur coats and diamonds, she think she a superstar

Ooh Biggie let me jack her, I’ll kick her in the back
Hit her with the Gat

Yo chill shorty, let me do that
Just get the fucking car keys and cruise up the block
The bitch act shocked getting shot on the spot

Oh shit the cops

Be cool, fool
They ain’t gonna roll up, all they want is fucking doughnuts

So why the fuck he keep looking?

I guess to get his life tooken
I just came home, ain’t trying to see central booking
Oh shit, now he looking in my face
You better haul ass cause I ain’t with no fucking chase
So lace up your boots, cause I’m about to shoot
A true motherfucka going out for the loot

Take that motherfuckers

Sterling Brown – “Slim Greer in Hell”

I

Slim Greer went to heaven;
St. Peter said, “Slim,
You been a right good boy.”
An’ he winked at him.

“You been travelin’ rascal
In yo’day.
You kin roam once mo’;
Den you come to stay.

“Put dese wings on yo’ shoulders,
An’ save yo’ feet.”
Slim grin, and he speak up,
“Thankye, Pete.”

Den Peter say, “Go
To Hell an’ see,
All dat is doing, and
Report to me.

“Be sure to remember
How everything go.”
Slim say, “I be seein’ yuh
On de late watch, bo.”

Slim got to cavortin’
Swell as you choose,
Like Lindy in de Spirit
Of St. Louis Blues.

He flew an’ he flew,
Till at last he hit
A hangar wid de sign readin’
DIS IS IT.

Den he parked his wings,
An’ strolled aroun’,
Gittin’ used to his feet
On de solid ground.

II

Big bloodhound came aroarin’
Like Niagry Falls,
Sicked on by white devils
In overhalls.

Now Slim warn’t scared
Cross my heart, it’s a fac’,
An de dog went on a bayin’
Some po’ devil’s track.

Den Slim saw a mansion
An’ walked right in;
De Devil looked up
Wid a sickly grin.

“Suttingly didn’t look
Fo’ you, Mr. Greer,
How it happens you comes
To visit here?”

Slim say—”Oh, jes’ thought
I’d drop by a spell.”
“Feel at home, seh, an’ here’s
De keys to hell.”

Den he took Slim around
An’ showed him people
Rasin’ hell as high as
De first Church Steeple.

Lots of folks fightin’
At de roulette wheel,
Like old Rampart Street,
Or leastwise Beale.

Showed him bawdy houses
An’ cabarets,
Slim thought of New Orleans
An’ Memphis days.

Each devil was busy
Wid a devlish broad,
An’ Slim cried, “Lawdy,
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd.”

Took him in a room
Where Slim see
De preacher wid a brownskin
On each knee.

Showed him giant stills,
Going everywhere,
Wid a passel of devils
Stretched dead drunk there.

Den he took him to de furnace
Dat some devils was firing,
Hot as Hell, an’ Slim start
A mean presspirin’.

White devils with pitchforks
Threw black devils on,
Slim thought he’d better
Be gittin’ along.

An’ he says—”Dis makes
Me think of home—
Vicksburg, Little Rock, Jackson,
Waco and Rome.”

Den de devil gave Slim
De big Ha-Ha;
An’ turned into a cracker,
Wid a sheriff’s star.

Slim ran fo’ his wings,
Lit out from de groun’
Hauled it back to St. Peter,
Safety boun’.

III

St. Peter said, “Well,
You got back quick.
How’s de devil? An’ what’s
His latest trick?”

An’ Slim Say, “Peter,
I really cain’t tell,
The place was Dixie
That I took for hell.”

Then Peter say, “you must
Be crazy, I vow,
Where’n hell dja think Hell was,
Anyhow?

“Git on back to de yearth,
Cause I got de fear,
You’se a leetle too dumb,
Fo’ to stay up here. . .”

Nas – “I Gave You Power”

Damn, look how muh-fuckers use a nigga
Just use me for whatever the fuck they want
I don’t get to say shit
Just grab me, just do what the fuck they want
Sell me, throw me away
Niggas just don’t give a fuck about a nigga like me right
Like I’m a f-, I’m a gun, shit
It’s like I’m a motherfucking gun
I can’t believe this shit
Word up, word up

I seen some cold nights and bloody days
They grab me and bullets spray
They use me wrong so I sing this song til this day
My body is cold steel for real
I was made to kill, that’s why they keep me concealed
Under car seats they sneak me in clubs
Been in the hands of mad thugs
They feed me when they load me with mad slugs
Seventeen precisely, one in my head
They call me Desert Eagle, semi-auto with lead
I’m seven inches four pounds, been through so many towns
Ohio to Little Rock to Canarsie, living harshly
Beat up and battered they pull me out
I watch as niggas scattered, making me kill
But what I feel it never mattered
When I’m empty I’m quiet, finding myself fiending to be fired
A broken safety, niggas place me in shelves
Under beds so I beg for my next owner to be a thoroughbred
Keep me full up with hollow heads

How you like me now, I go blaow
It’s that shit that moves crowds making every ghetto foul
I might have took your first child
Scarred your life, crippled your style
I gave you power, I made you buckwild

Always I’m in some shit
My abdomen is the clip, the barrel is my dick uncircumcised
Pull my skin back and cock me
I bust off when they unlock me
Results of what happens to niggas shock me
I see niggas bleeding running from me in fear, stunningly tears
Fall down the eyes of these so-called tough guys, for years
I’ve been used in robberies, giving niggas heart to follow me
Placing peoples in graves, funerals made cause I was sprayed
I was laid in a shelf, with a grenade
Met a wrecked-up Tec with numbers on his chest that say
Five-two-oh-nine-three-eight-five and zero
Had a serial defaced, hoping one day police would place
Where he came from, a name or some sort of person to claim him
Tired of murdering, made him wanna be a plain gun
But yo, I had some other plans like the next time the beef is on
I make myself jam right in my owner’s hand

Yo, weeks went by and I’m surprised
Still stuck in the shelf with all the things that an outlaw hides
Besides me it’s bullets, two vests and then a nine
There’s a grenade in a box, and that Tec that kept crying
Cause he ain’t been cleaned in a year he’s rusty, it’s clear
He’s bout to fall to pieces cause of his murder career
Yo I can hear somebody coming in, open the shelf
His eyes bubbling, he said it was on
I felt his palm troubled him shaking
Somebody stomped him out, his dome was aching
He placed me on his waist, the moment I’ve been waiting
My creation was for Blacks to kill Blacks
It’s gats like me that accidentally go off, making niggas memories
But this time, it’s done intentionally
He walked me outside, saw this cat
Cocked me back, said, “Remember me?”
He pulled the trigger but I held on, it felt wrong
Knowing niggas is waiting in hell for him
He squeezed harder, I didn’t budge, sick of the blood
Sick of the thugs, sick of wrath of the next man’s grudge
What the other kid did was pull out, no doubt
A newer me in better shape, before he lit out, he lead the chase
My owner fell to the floor his wig split so fast
I didn’t know he was hit, it’s over with
Heard mad niggas screaming, niggas running, cops is coming
Now I’m happy, until I felt somebody else grab me, damn.

Robert Hayden – “Night, Death, Mississippi”

1
A quavering cry. Screech-owl?
Or one of them?
The old man in his reek
and gauntness laughs —

One of them, I bet —
and turns out the kitchen lamp,
limping to the porch to listen
in the windowless night.

Be there with Boy and the rest
if I was well again.
Time was. Time was.
White robes like moonlight

In the sweetgum dark.
Unbucked that one then
and him squealing bloody Jesus
as we cut it off.

Time was. A cry?
A cry all right.
He hawks and spits,
fevered as by groinfire.

Have us a bottle,
Boy and me —
he’s earned him a bottle —
when he gets home.

2
Then we beat them, he said,
beat them till our arms was tired
and the big old chains
messy and red.

O Jesus burning on the lily cross

Christ, it was better
than hunting bear
which don’t know why
you want him dead.

O night, rawhead and bloodybones night

You kids fetch Paw
some water now so’s he
can wash that blood
off him, she said.

O night betrayed by darkness not its own

Eminem – “Stan”

[Hook: Dido]
My tea’s gone cold, I’m wondering why I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window and I can’t see at all
And even if I could it’ll all be gray, but your picture on my wall
It reminds me, that it’s not so bad, it’s not so bad

Dear Slim I wrote you, but you still ain’t callin’
I left my cell, my pager and my home phone at the bottom
I sent two letters back in autumn, you must not’ve got em
There probably was a problem at the post office or something
Sometimes I scribble addresses too sloppy when I jot em
But anyways, fuck it, what’s been up man, how’s your daughter?
My girlfriend’s pregnant too, I’m ‘bout to be a father
If I have a daughter, guess what I’mma call her?
I’mma name her Bonnie
I read about your Uncle Ronnie too, I’m sorry
I had a friend kill himself over some bitch who didn’t want him
I know you probably hear this every day, but I’m your biggest fan
I even got the underground shit that you did with Skam
I got a room full of your posters and your pictures, man
I like the shit you did with Rawkus too, that shit was phat
Anyways, I hope you get this man, hit me back
Just to chat, truly yours, your biggest fan, this is Stan

Dear Slim, you still ain’t called or wrote; I hope you have a chance
I ain’t mad, I just think it’s fucked up you don’t answer fans
If you didn’t want to talk to me outside the concert
You didn’t have to, but you could’ve signed an autograph for Matthew
That’s my little brother man, he’s only six years old
We waited in the blistering cold for you
For four hours and you just said no
That’s pretty shitty man, you’re like his fucking idol
He wants to be just like you, man, he likes you more than I do
I ain’t that mad though, I just don’t like being lied to
Remember when we met in Denver?
You said if I’d write you, you would write back
See, I’m just like you in a way
I never knew my father neither
He used to always cheat on my mom and beat her
I can relate to what you’re saying in your songs
So when I have a shitty day, I drift away and put ‘em on
Cause I don’t really got shit else
So that shit helps when I’m depressed
I even got a tattoo of your name across the chest
Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds
It’s like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me
See everything you say is real, and I respect you cause you tell it
My girlfriend’s jealous cause I talk about you 24/7
But she don’t know you like I know you, Slim, no one does
She don’t know what it was like for people like us growing up
You gotta call me, man, I’ll be the biggest fan you’ll ever lose
Sincerely yours, Stan
P.S. We should be together too

Dear Mr. I’m-Too-Good-to-Call-or-Write-My-Fans
This’ll be the last package I ever send your ass
It’s been six months and still no word, I don’t deserve it?
I know you got my last two letters
I wrote the addresses on ‘em perfect
So this is my cassette I’m sending you, I hope you hear it
I’m in the car right now, I’m doing 90 on the freeway
Hey, Slim, I drank a fifth of vodka, you dare me to drive
You know the song by Phil Collins “In the Air of the Night”
About that guy who could’ve saved that other guy from drowning
But didn’t, then Phil saw it all, then at a a show he found him
That’s kinda how this is, you could’ve rescued me from drowning
Now it’s too late, I’m on a thousand downers now, I’m drowsy
And all I wanted was a lousy letter or a call
I hope you know I ripped all of your pictures off the wall
I loved you Slim, we could’ve been together, think about it
You ruined it now, I hope you can’t sleep and you dream about it
And when you dream
I hope you can’t sleep and you scream about it
I hope your conscience eats at you
And you can’t breathe without me
See, Slim, shut up bitch, I’m tryna talk
Hey, Slim, that’s my girlfriend screamin’ in the trunk
But I didn’t slit her throat, I just tied her up, see I ain’t like you
Cause if she suffocates she’ll suffer more and then she’ll die too
Well, gotta go, I’m almost at the bridge now
Oh shit, I forgot, how am I supposed to send this shit out?

Dear, Stan, I meant to write you sooner but I just been busy
You said your girlfriend’s pregnant now, how far along is she?
Look, I’m really flattered you would call your daughter that
And here’s an autograph for your brother
I wrote it on a Starter cap
I’m sorry I didn’t see you at the show, I must’ve missed you
Don’t think I did that shit intentionally just to diss you
But what’s this shit you said about you like to cut your wrists too?
I say that shit just clowning, dawg, come on, how fucked up is you?
You got some issues Stan, I think you need some counseling
To help your ass from bouncing off the walls when you get down some
And what’s this shit about us meant to be together?
That type of shit’ll make me not want us to meet each other
I really think you and your girlfriend need each other
Or maybe you just need to treat her better
I hope you get to read this letter, I just hope it reaches you in time
Before you hurt yourself, I think that you’ll be doing just fine
If you relax a little, I’m glad I inspire you, but Stan
Why are you so mad?
Try to understand, that I do want you as a fan
I just don’t want you to do some crazy shit
I seen this one shit on the news a couple weeks ago that made me sick
Some dude was drunk and drove his car over a bridge
And had his girlfriend in the trunk
And she was pregnant with his kid
And in the car they found a tape, but they didn’t say who it was to
Come to think about it, his name was, it was you, damn.

Elizabeth Bishop – “Letter to N.Y.”
For Louise Crane

In your next letter I wish you’d say
where you are going and what you are doing;
how are the plays, and after the plays
what other pleasures you’re pursuing:

taking cabs in the middle of the night,
driving as if to save your soul
where the road goes round and round the park
and the meter glares like a moral owl,

and the trees look so queer and green
standing alone in big black caves
and suddenly you’re in a different place
where everything seems to happen in waves,

and most of the jokes you just can’t catch,
like dirty words rubbed off a slate,
and the songs are loud but somehow dim
and it gets so terribly late,

and coming out of the brownstone house
to the gray sidewalk, the watered street,
one side of the buildings rises with the sun
like a glistening field of wheat.

—Wheat, not oats, dear. I’m afraid
if it’s wheat it’s none of your sowing,
nevertheless I’d like to know
what you are doing and where you are going.