The M.A.N. In Cell #7

by Silk

Does anyone out there feel the pain of a condemned soul?
Twisted faces stare into out lives, critiquing us, 
but not seeking to understand the M.A.N.
Mad Ass Nigga
Meaningless objectives stand first in the line
of thought that fill your head.
Am I dead?
I donít think so, 
although the hurt does show.
LIE-berty hides behind the bandana of corruption, 
too busy with the seduction of the judicial whirlpool
that mercilessly drown the brothers of my mothers SUNS!
ďLet me get some dapĒ 
while we pee shorties gap.
The trap has collapsed on my peoples heads.
Yeah the dreds, 
the bald heads and braids.
Itís all a part of the way we express the mess weíre in.
I gotta protect my chin, 
cause if I grin, Iím inÖ
ÖIf I shout, Iím out..
Out of my mind,
Out to line,
Out of time,
Out to get mine.
From enemies of friends.
To the beginning from the end.
Yes Lie-bertyís love shapes and molds our mental 
creating waves big enough to surf on.
ďHang 10 dude!Ē
Yeah 10 niggas!
Nine thousand One Hundred and Twenty Five Days;
Do the time, not the math
And they donít want half.
All of everything, reduced to nothing. 
Nothing but contempt 
for the system that had pimped
and fucked me, and my family. 
Some say ďainít no thang to me.Ē
But thatís insanity, 
because what you claim to be,
is a man whoís free-DOME is based on
how many presidents become the residents of your pockets.
Pockets that 9 times out of 10 
were fashioned by the same hands 
that fashioned handcuffs around the wrist of Rodney King, 
Martin Luther King, and all the other Kings and Queens of Africa.  
Wake up or come live next to me. 
Iím the M.A.N. (Mad Ass Nigga) in Cell #7

The M.A.N. In Cell #7 by Silk

© Copyright 1999. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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