Akbar’s Revelation

Posted by on Oct 3, 2009 in Akbar Lightning, Experimental Sounds


Bricks built within the wall, mixed with sticks and stones within the halls
Of scientific institutions, drones filling stalls, with no solutions at fucking all
The honorific implications of rehashing fashions, see through glass terrors of
glaring terrific sky scraping errors, da dashing doppelgangers a danger in the mirrors
facades that facilitate charades of a transparent law we lash out, pounding fists with bloody digits representing a cause character flaws found, loopholes addendum and a clause like kittens licking our paws, cat-nipping I’m smitten written letters a better bet than exposing frauds but better late than fettered to scraping chains because affixed to stakes, raking finger nails across my face, making it raw to satiate the rage within for applause

inductively making my way through the maze deductions of the indwelling eruptions of the guts, I’m amazed I function unfazed when you call me nuts, buster better adjust your ways
On your butts while I muster the lustrous singularity in what I say
Speech that cuts industriously across oceans and days, and days
Confused in a world crusted, tectonic plates like rusted metal gates screech
At the nearest sign, intruders beseech you to align, retreat to
your center, enter into a refined, meet and greet
With gravitational waves that beat on the shores, at the feet
Of the divine doors that open to mine, that keep thine
From drifting into the space so defined
By longitudinal measurements of the crimes, a defeat
Committed in times of acquittal, weapons of mass instruction from which I resign

Your face frowns, contorted, if your case is confused report it
Muses refusing to have you, so stand accused of malaise mixed with aborted,
Delusions of cold fusions afforded,
The solution is rooted in astutely spewing it, if I tried to, if I drew it
I couldn’t possibly do it, the way that I intuit, when the mood strikes me I blew it,
After looting and accruing anger, brewing I got booted, from the same clubs that i eschewed, tossed out the door sorted and recorded, so rudely at four in the morning deported, but dude, when I reword it, I exhort it, it’s rewarding to implore you, storing up four score and seven more lawn jockeys in assorted simulacra of the boss-men getting thwarted.

Lord it’s like presidents paying ford for turning swords into shares of stock on the trading floor, carving gourds and dressing up in sartorial excess like senators, selling legislation to corporate whores who hunger for our nation, who stock stores with iou’s, using back doors to drive away in gray bmw’s, infused with music of ghetto youths, blues blasting bass to excuse, the bruised black faces facing you, singing songs that erase the chasing feelings of guilt from getting loose.

Produced by Hiphopbeats4free.com


1 Comment

  1. globatron
    October 3, 2009

    You keep raising the bar Akbar. Love the beats. Inspiring for Globatron. Maybe I’ll have to speak my words after all. Maybe we’ll have to come out with an album of sorts.

    With your words I feel intense anger of the economic situation and the fraud that was delivered to us all in such a brilliant manner. Instead of jail cells they get million dollar bonuses given to them by tax payers.

    It’s the biggest crime in history and no one knows how to prosecute.

    One thing that should be validated from the Tea Party town hall and Express demonstrations is the anger. We should be rightly anger although I believe the anger is unjustly directed at Obama it is still there. Maybe we should all be as angry as them?


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