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zuò qǔ : Ursula Rucker Ahmir Thompson Anthony Tidd |
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zuò cí : Rucker, Thompson, Tidd |
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feat. Ursula Rucker Ursula Rucker |
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Muffled sound of fist on flesh |
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Blows to chest |
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No breath |
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Air gasps |
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You ain' t nothing but white trash, bitch! |
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With each hit, each kick, each. . . broken rib |
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Crack, Crack! |
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Bones are crying |
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Mommy' s crying and bleeding |
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And pleading |
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And then. . . |
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Daddy wants to fuck |
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Dick hard, swelled with power rush |
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And as if all that wasn' t enough |
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Mommy' s seven months heavy with birth |
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As. . . Daddy grunts and cursed drunk nothings in her bloodied ear singing softly |
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First. . . lullaby |
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First. . . Son. . . will. . . ever. . . hear |
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And never forget |
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Mommy almost bled to death when she have him. . . finally |
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She' d already lost. . . three |
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Uterus-bruised, shredded, and weak |
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From being daily beat |
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And Friday nights were the worse and. . . |
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Daddy never came with flowers |
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Instead he spent hours at some corner spot |
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With some bar pop named |
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Cookie Putting his thing down |
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Soiling Mommy' s sheets with. . . |
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Sweet. . . talk shit, |
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Cookie' s cheap lipstick, |
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Hair grease, sperm, and jezebel juice |
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To hell with the good news that. . . |
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He was a father for the first time |
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His thirst for wine and women |
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Clouded his vision. . . |
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No warm welcome for mother and son |
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Just. . . The rank smell of ass-crack, funk, and cum |
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But Mommy' s prayerful strength-her best defense |
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She. . . burned the dirty linens |
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Made a fresh bed |
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Laid sleeping |
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First Son down |
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And never made a sound |
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As she purged her scourge |
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With birth-blood and quiet tears |
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Watching as her fears and love and sacrifice |
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Lie there in his soft skin and new life |
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Breathing, dreaming, fresh from |
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God' s eye |
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Mommy' s little survivor |
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Like. . . her |
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Mommy called crazy and scorned ' |
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Cuz she two more born |
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One boy soon after |
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The girl much later and. . . |
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Although they were both sung the same lullabies of hate |
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Her. . . First |
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Son, the first one |
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Whose. . . womb-world was profaned |
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Came of age playing street games |
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With Stewie, |
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Rezzie, and |
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Little Brother ' |
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Till his heart start to wither |
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In pain and shame |
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Blamed Mom for the wrong she let |
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Daddy do to her |
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And him. . . |
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Let. . . sins of the |
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Father cause his |
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Innocence to wander |
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Found out amongst thieves |
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Chose to squander his dreams |
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Stopped believing in himself |
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Become prodigal with his life |
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Make impossible shit right with. . . |
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Gang-ties, crime, lies |
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Erase wise, woeful words of |
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Mother Replaced them with absurdities of others |
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Who had also lost their way |
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Played a different kind of street game now |
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First Son plunged deep |
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Speak street-family vows |
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Espouse no causes but his own |
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See, he couldn' t protect |
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Mommy' s neck from |
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Daddy' s grasp |
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Or. . . protect |
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Mommy' s ass from |
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Daddy' s wrath |
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Couldn' t shield her ears from. . . |
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Daddy' s foul-mouthed, liquor-breath jeers |
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His only defense-served be confidence |
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Brown bottles housed his swift descent |
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Phones called cops on block frequent for his shenanigans |
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Now. . . Daddy and him twins in addiction |
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Driven to false-hearted heavens and friends |
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By liquefied demons |
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Had become what he despised from |
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Conception ' til |
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End Destined for a demise |
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Survived nine lives of staying high |
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Conning, jewelry-pawning, arrests, theft |
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Womanizing. . . only for money, never for sex |
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Bullet in chest, baseball bat to the head |
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Left for dead |
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So, eyes wide and glassy |
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Speech. . . slowed and slurred |
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Lips twitched with caked-up codeine candy |
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And mouth corners one |
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December 24th |
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Mr. Hide and |
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False Friend |
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Took final ride to suburban supplier |
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Shots were fired by the gray man |
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With shaky hand |
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But not shaky enough to miss. . . |
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Hit. . . Lost |
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Boy in back |
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So-called |
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Friend runs for door |
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Leaves First |
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Son blood-born |
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Lying alone in blood on cold floor |
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Death was the cause of. . . |
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Returning to |
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Innocence |
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Lost. . . Baby ' |
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Sis awake for dawn on |
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Christmas morn |
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To Mommy' s sobs and shakes |
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Daddy' s silhouettes of regret |
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All past, omitted, and absolved by lost |
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As they clung to each other |
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Knowing. . . |