Freedom of Expression is the peace I hold dear like my heart in my hand making me feel alive.
And my words are my babies that are not artificially inseminated so I naturally birth faith into lives through this puss I call lips.
Continue to speak to the common wealth of men's and women's souls wit my conscious poetic symphonies of true tales. Cause the truth never fails when it brings prolific change, as its words escape my chamber of change and tool of thought.

The restlessness of fighting on a daily basis faces of common man live by death in their pride as young tongues of hope sling karmic redemption to the masses;
And I've seen so much crime and heart ache that my eyes have blisters.
Speak the truth and Jeremy shock thee back to reality to keep them from being free and dumb.

So spit poet. Spit till your words become ancient seas that would make Moses come back from the dead and use
to part ghetto minds of stereotype curses.
Cause I spit so that the chains of pain of ancestors past and shackles of failure no longer hold down my youth.

And spit with my head held high, till nightmares die, my mouth gets dry and God no longer has to cry over his
children with rain storms of sorrow.

I ask you, will you spit or swallow?
To me swallowing would be killing my lyrical liberation;
Silencing the social litigation that would uncrucify my birth Babylon I call Brooklyn.
The measure of my Atlantic will is long and hard that goes for yards.
I'll spit till the walls of my mouth and tongue are dryer than the sands of times last grain.
And the corridors of my soul reach kingdom come.

Now is the time. With reason and rhyme; you won't let your soul become another chalk outline at Lucifer's feet.
Use the mystical powers of this blessed tool to unlock the treasure chest with our hearts.
Launch lethal loogies to fill these empty buckets of character common man has lost.
At times I've hit road blocks more colder than words by Robert Frost on this journey.
I turn to the revolutionary poet inside of me,
beside thee to save the suicide land minds of your dying breed;

Using these words that may become royalty to
Crown the heights of mine and your current and future seeds of change that's gone come;
Ratifying life's legislation to create the nationwide
hood declaration of independence my brothers and sisters can live by.

...I ask you again, will you spit or swallow?
If you swallow, that means you would rather choke on the meat of old slave masters,
welcome social disasters, and encourage more bloody Sundays a month than a menstrual cycle.

I do this for the young sista on a Franklin ave station bench,
with her head in hands cause going through it right now
and that belief in the power of true tongues will extinguish her pain
aslo hoping the stains of life dirtying her soul can be removed forever.