The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of NiggyTardust!

I was born
In a Convict Colony
And I was torn
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NGH WHT: chaps. 9-12)
Feel the music. Son, we got you programmed like a beat. When I press snare, Yo, guard your grill. ‘Press kick, you move your feet. You can’t compete. I got my hydrants parked on every street. I’m federal NGH. Son of Sun. Come close and feel the heat. I am the streets. The white lines only separate me from me. You hydroplane in false gods name and still crash into me: Sign and Tree; Mountainside; Guard Rail; The Sea. They thought they stole you from my arms then carried you to me. Here’s the key: DNA encoded in a beat. White rocks in a vial, NGH, ain’t got nuthin’ on me. BCH I’m free. Ask these editors at MTV. Far as they, know they’re publishing some new school poetry. Let it be. ‘Cause even that will serve to turn the key. Doorways into other worlds. The Truth shall set you free. YOU are me, I am you, but also I’m (s)he. She-pherd of a bastard flock that grazes in the streets. Feel the beat. Nod your head. Lean back, yo. Touch your feet. Let me see you pop that thang right there girl in your seat. Feel the heat. Count this page amongst your whitest sheets. Comfort in my every word. Slide under. Countless sheep.

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