1. |
Blueberry Stars
03:11
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I got a call from an old friend, out of the blue.
We talked from 1am to half past 2.
He had some bad news about some people we knew,
I should have reached out more than I've a tendency to,
but life has a way of obstructing the rear view.
What's in front of you is all it makes sense to pursue.
But catch me up on the last few!
Has it been that long? Shit, the years just flew.
Haven't been a picnic for you,
anytime you wanna get away, feel free to slide through.
I got a guest room & you can meet the crew,
he said "nowadays in your free time, what you like to do?"
I said
I like to dream,
right between the sound machine.
I like to dream,
right between the sound machine.
I like to pretend the sky's a bowl of blueberries in the night,
& the stars are the glints where they catch the light.
Nurturing earth, place of birth beneath us,
& above us is nothing but sweetness.
I like to pretend we never lost contact,
& have the whole rest of the old squad back,
every season is a new crow of fruit,
every tree has more than one root.
& all we gotta do is count blessings, late night couch sessions,
no trace of what the rasta call downpression,
feet in the dirt mound squishes, no house slippers,
pennies saved, ain't no need for fountain wishes.
Nobody feels awkward, a fool,
cuz there ain't no thing as uncool,
nobody feels the need to self-medicate or numb a troubled soul
cuz life is a blueberry bowl.
I like to dream,
right between the sound machine.
I like to dream,
right between the sound machine.
I like to pretend that all you gotta do is follow the creek
through the woods to find what you seek.
It leads everybody to different places,
but the creek itself stays changeless.
In this dream, you never have to move very far,
cuz everyone can feel valued where they are,
& when you die you lose every scar
& rise in the night to be a blueberry star.
I like to dream,
right between the sound machine.
I like to dream,
right between the sound machine.
I like to dream,
right between the sound machine.
I like to dream,
right between the sound machine.
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2. |
Rockets
03:49
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I got a call, "what's your plans for the 4th?" I said "stay in,
it's really hot, ain't really got shit I feel like celebrating.
Kids in cages, cuz a racist administration
saw fit to make this nation driven by prison slave ships.
But that's consistent with original principles,
make indigenous criminals, give the rich the residuals,
same system chop the welfare, keep my pockets threadbare,
how I look watching the rockets' red glare? Fuck that."
He said "that's what I inferred, I had heard
the same thing from a lot of folks this year, kinda perturbed,
but hey, it's still July the 3rd, if you change your mind, I could use a ride from work,
I'm tryna catch the fireworks."
I said, "dog, stop it dead there,
the fireworks symbolize the bombs we drop everywhere,
global fear since the commie red scare,
what you think goes through an Iraqi's head when
he sees the rockets' red glare? Think about it."
Oh, oh, oh oh oh, oh, oh, & the rockets' red glare.
Oh, oh, oh oh oh, oh, oh, & the rockets' red glare.
The first summer I lived here was nothing like this year,
a dumb fucking kid with a beard chugging some piss beer,
humping his fixed-gear to the park for the display,
meet up with my grad school friends & hit J's.
Banjo music on the big stage, white folks
waving the same banner as those that wear the white cloaks.
Obnoxious ren faire, deep in Thomas Jeff's lair,
not a shred aware, watching rockets' red glare.
The next year, I partied in a gentrified hood,
separated from the poor parts, protected by woods,
live music for the occasion
provided by a reggae band that was 100% caucasian.
It felt terribly sick,
celebrating freedom with music by people who were slaves in 1776,
but I never heard the topic said there, tank tops & chest hair
too enthralled by the rockets' red glare.
Oh, oh, oh oh oh, oh, oh, & the rockets' red glare.
Oh, oh, oh oh oh, oh, oh, & the rockets' red glare.
Denzy said the block party was in full effect,
I said fuck it, get the crew & let's head for the 'jects.
I didn't want to be part of the patriot weirdness,
but something seemed to be drawing me to make an appearance.
The baka baka blaow sounded like the Gaza Strip,
then I saw the smiles & the grills with the sausages,
chief rocker Dev there, roman candle pop & send prayers
to the sky through the rockets' red glare.
Building community against all odds,
represent all squads, unfence all yards.
Little kids playing clap games,
joy through the haze of the smoke from the flashbangs.
Then somebody with a Fox News stare
must have called the law, told them which block & who's there
cuz pretty soon the needle got lifted off the chopped & skrewed fare
as the people dispersed beneath the cops' blue glare.
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3. |
Cops of the World
03:15
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Shots rung, everybody knew the bastard did it.
The cops dumb fast to pop punks, Bad Religion.
Should've ended a career like it's Chappaquiddick,
instead suspended with pay, now he's back, acquitted.
New beat, task force, sabotage the union,
the same DA that barely even prosecuted,
stranglehold, strikebreakers & the scabs colluded,
status quo for that Amazon package you get.
City sheriff handle transport for court cases,
protecting border agents seeking deportation,
plus the board of education,
enforcing rules that target disproportionately black & brown, poor & native.
Conquering soldiers are lifting boots high,
to stomp a mudhole in the "shithole" they occupy.
Power is willingness to brutalize,
same authority their commander & compatriots rule by.
Walk up in a place of worship & shoot blind,
wash it down with a Coke & some Dylann Roof fries,
no such things as blue lives,
they don't publicize when their troops kill, only when their troops die.
Cops of the world, it's deeper than a badge,
landlord's investment into keeping what he has,
padlocks for the have-nots & the burls,
it's deeper than a badge, the cops of the world.
Cops of the world, it's deeper than a badge,
landlord's investment into keeping what he has,
padlocks for the half-knots & the burls,
it's deeper than a badge, the cops of the world.
If you snitch for a favor, I don't trust you.
Keep tabs on your neighbor? It's still fuck you.
Self-appointed gatekeepers & dress-code makers
that prohibit dreadlocks & scuffed shoes.
Corrupt abusers, churches protecting rape priests,
centrists that make excuses for hate speech,
news anchors that want to hear all sides when
somehow it's never the ignorance that they silence.
Judges that give more time for rock than powder,
the C.O.s that tortured Kalief Browder,
politicians that take corporate cash
& the voters who deny their integrity's smashed.
Vigilantes in the spirit of slave patrols,
voter suppressors that intimidate the polls,
shaming moms & deadnaming dads,
acting like their kids' identity a phase or fad,
Pervis Payne's accuser & the jury that convicted him,
educators that never question the curriculum.
It ain't about the insignia on your sleeve,
if you work to preserve this system, you are police.
Cops of the world, it's deeper than a badge,
landlord's investment into keeping what he has,
padlocks for the have-nots & the burls,
it's deeper than a badge, the cops of the world.
Cops of the world, it's deeper than a badge,
landlord's investment into keeping what he has,
padlocks for the half-knots & the burls,
it's deeper than a badge, the cops of the world.
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4. |
The Satin Staircase
03:51
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When he was little, mama took him up the satin stairs,
told him his great-great-great-grandfather lived there.
With that many greats, he must have been a great man,
so he was proud to inherit the house & the land.
Mama said he helped build this nation,
out of hard work & determination.
With pure will he transformed the landscape.
That must have been the reason for the man's face
in the portrait that hung in the landing,
where the stairs took a turn & kept ascending.
He was always taught to smile for pictures,
but they didn't back then, cuz the times were vicious.
Serious business, building a legacy,
so he could benefit from the pedigree.
But in the future his present was wrapped in the past,
memories of before the crash.
Now mom & dad just another photo
in the landing, not quite as old though.
At least he could remember what they looked like,
& what they left had him set for life.
When she was little, she would look at the satin stairs
in the summertime, cuz her daddy worked there.
School was out, no money for daycare,
no other kids to play with & braid hair.
So she would daydream, "what if this was my house?"
Walking up the soft stairs in a nightgown,
go to bed now, lay your head down,
snuggle up safe in the thread count.
But it was owned by a trust & her daddy worked for it,
needed special training cuz it was historic.
A boy about her age was gonna own
the home & the property, once he got grown.
What was it like to be set for life?
She barely remembered what her mom looked like.
The photo in dad's wallet had limits,
& oftentimes that was all it had in it.
One day daddy told her his chest hurt,
but he couldn't afford to miss work.
Now he's just another photo in the wallet,
that's otherwise empty from paying off the doc debt.
So much for college, settled his affairs
& took his old job sweeping the satin stairs.
Now, his ancestor wanted satin stairs,
so her ancestor had to do the repairs,
calculate the rise & run,
but if he tried to rise & run he'd fire his gun,
& while the work was being done,
his wife was at home alone, & a little bit later there was a son.
They never spoke about it, but they both must have known,
cuz of the timeline, plus the boy's skin tone.
Now, her ancestor can't accumulate wealth
cuz his ancestor keeps everything for himself.
Serious business, building a legacy,
so he could benefit from the pedigree.
Now he's just another portrait in the landing,
where the stairs take a turn & keep ascending.
The staff say the place is cursed,
like, one of the maids, they talk about in whispers,
whose husband also worked there,
who always looked at the boss a little scared,
who had a newborn with a full head of hair,
broke her neck falling down the satin stairs.
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5. |
V.H.S.
03:12
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The day was about 88º on my paper route,
racing 'round, taping flyers, tryna finagle a crowd.
Ran into Sweet Lick on the pavement & gave a pound,
conversation's 'bout who's shaking the town,
& who gon' be the first to take all that clout,
& translate it, cover major ground, make it out & make us all proud,
without considering really what "make it out" means,
aside from fulfilling them fill-up-bank-account dreams.
Do we want him to represent us? Represent we?
& once that check cut, how many gonna feel the envy
& say "he was never really one of our own"?
How long until conspiracy theories that he's a clone?
How long until he's cruising that Bugatti through Westhaven,
some talking about illuminati, the rest hating?
How long until his hometown he don't claim it,
cuz labels & agents say it's unsavory associations?
I told Lick I would catch him on the flip,
tipped my Vinegar Hill snapback & dipped,
jumped in the truck cuz I had another stunt to pull,
still owe the body shop a stack on the deductible.
The door still don't really close right,
but that's life, all the more reason to get my 0's right.
I crossed town to see my brother at the job, I inquired,
they said he was busy working the fryer.
I replied, "can I drop off these flyers?
He's got a show on Friday, you might slide through if you feel inspired to."
She said "bet," but I knew she wasn't coming out.
Nobody pays to see their co-worker dumbing out,
run his mouth about Trump & the house,
I can hear that any day & I ain't got to put no money down.
One of the illest lyricists this city has,
last gig he walked away with $32.50 cash.
4 kids, 2 jobs slinging hash
& a side hustle middlemanning gas up the ave.
He can't vote, or get a business license either,
to start up a dispensary, once it's legal.
Yeah it's capitalism, it hurts.
But I had another rapper to visit at work.
So I cocked my Vinegar Hill snapback to the left,
dropped the flyer stack off, then I stepped.
My shift start at 3, hit the road pronto,
detour, street closed, they're building some new condos.
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6. |
Paddywagon Bounce
04:49
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It goes: Impalas, Tauruses, Crown Vics,
Chargers, Intrepids, westbound ships,
paddywagons, rollers, jakemobiles, black & whites,
black mariah, cruiser, cherrytop, know your rights.
Impalas, Tauruses, Crown Vics,
Chargers, Intrepids, westbound ships,
paddywagons, rollers, jakemobiles, black & whites,
black mariah, cruiser, cherrytop, know your rights.
We souped up under the hood, when we come to the hood
with intentions to plunder the hood,
got the law on our side, painted emblems, city mottos,
hit the throttle, rev the engines, skip the potholes.
Headlights, spotlights, cop lights,
top flight, garage tight, never stop for stoplights.
Cage up in the back, gauge up in the rack,
see a Cadillac? Check the driver's age & if he black.
Is he Asian? Is she Latin? Is he gay? Is she fat?
If he's unshaven with a headwrap, call it payback.
But even an oil change can't change that
fluid from the camelback, lubing up my crankshaft.
Tinted windows, feel free to mistreat.
Full safety belts, even on the bitch seat.
Little pedals made for big feet,
call us Spam, we're just tin cans full of pig meat.
Impalas, Tauruses, Crown Vics,
Chargers, Intrepids, westbound ships,
paddywagons, rollers, jakemobiles, black & whites,
black mariah, cruiser, cherrytop, know your rights.
Impalas, Tauruses, Crown Vics,
Chargers, Intrepids, westbound ships,
paddywagons, rollers, jakemobiles, black & whites,
black mariah, cruiser, cherrytop, know your rights.
Goddamn ya, I got the camera,
go ahead, use the hammer, later you can tamper
with the evidence, snip a couple seconds or whatever, shit,
throw the tape away, claim negligence.
I won't ever snitch. My system never glitch,
unless it's necessary for a pig to wreck a bitch,
I just close my eyes & my dashboard cam
& fast forward, like I did the last poor man.
Impalas, Tauruses, Crown Vics,
Chargers, Intrepids, westbound ships,
paddywagons, rollers, jakemobiles, black & whites,
black mariah, cruiser, cherrytop, know your rights.
Impalas, Tauruses, Crown Vics,
Chargers, Intrepids, westbound ships,
paddywagons, rollers, jakemobiles, black & whites,
black mariah, cruiser, cherrytop, know your rights.
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7. |
Invisible Army
03:39
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SIck being cooped up, went for a stroll.
I was walking underneath a utility pole
when a cloud cracked open & yelled,
out the bruise-colored blue, rain exploded, slipped & I fell.
I saw a flash crash to the power line above me,
smoke, split apart, whipped down & it stung me.
Don't know how long I was out, but when I woke
the utility pole spoke.
& it said:
I remember back when I was a tree,
they were looking for the strongest, the truest & so they chose me
& they picked me, clipped me, stripped me, dipped me
in a chemical bath so termites couldn't have bit me,
put me on a truck to another spot,
where the post-hole digger gave me a vertical plot.
& I know how a Christmas tree feels,
cuz they gave me a wire crown & pretended I was real.
Festooned me with a slew of human doodads,
ran power through me, light bulbs with blue glass,
hung hope & tradition all on my top,
but the Christmas tree gets attention I do not.
My one job is to silently serve,
& if I'm doing it right, I'm unseen & unheard.
You people think you're an observant species,
but it took you facing death to perceive me.
We carry what you need,
but you don't see.
We hide in plain view,
we're all around you.
We march alone & in pairs
around the city square.
I swear, we're right there,
maybe if you'd glance up now & then.
Back when I was pine, it was fine, now I'm somebody's spine.
I never asked to be part of your design.
If I'm lucky, a vine will feel inclined to climb me
& give me back foliage of which I was deprived.
Now I just lift your arteries up high,
even the vestiges of those you left behind.
Call them landlines, but many live in the sky,
carried on our shoulders 40 yards at a time.
That tech was major until you dropped it.
Vacant cables, now we use them to gossip,
talk shit about your little human concerns,
while our cousins on the west coast burn.
I watch over my sisters, the trees in the park,
lucky ones that got to keep their leaves & their bark.
Now & then I get to host a bird's nest,
but they usually don't stay long; the current makes them nervous.
We carry what you need,
but you don't see.
We hide in plain view,
we're all around you.
We march alone & in pairs
around the city square.
I swear, we're right there,
maybe if you'd glance up now & then.
& I ain't even mad that you plucked me from the grove,
cuz it's little saplings that my growth would've choked.
But why is this what you chose?
I could've been the pages of a book & educated myself when I was closed.
Or a pencil, a paintbrush, & helped create art,
could've witnessed such joy as a floral wedding arch,
could've been a bat, hit some home runs,
but what I run into your home, I don't even see the outcome.
Many ways life could have been richer,
instead of 30-some years, then it's into the chipper.
Railroad ties work & don't see the results,
but even they don't know what it's like to carry your volts.
I feel a buzzing deep down, when it's quiet I hear it,
& I wonder to myself, is it electric or spirit?
Is it what you gave me, or is it really a soul?
& that's what's fucked up about being a utility pole.
We carry what you need,
but you don't see.
We hide in plain view,
we're all around you.
We march alone & in pairs
around the city square.
I swear, we're right there,
maybe if you'd glance up now & then.
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8. |
Air for a Threnody
03:05
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Isolated, spirit too broke to believe
in a sick mom & the sickness she imposed on her seed,
watching those around him drown in oceans of greed
& never heard of such a thing as an emotional need.
But for him, there were physical needs.
He kept seeing how the big fish ate the little fish in the sea
& all he wanted was a minute to...
to figure out who he was & had ambitions to be,
with every tick on the wall clock meticulously scripted
in the small pond where he was dipped, imprisoned.
1st bell: the bullies would start it off.
2nd bell: math class, he couldn't chart a course.
Escape to the clinic, faking a sort of *cough*,
then off to chow time, fish sticks with tartar sauce.
Gym class, laps tryna outrun the predators,
don't make waves & they won't catch the scent of you.
Watching so-called peers outpace his ass,
wanted some safety, maybe a date, but afraid to ask,
struggling to keep up, believing he was stupid,
wasn't like the others & every one of them knew it.
Study hall & he kept to himself,
at the end of the bells, home to mom, desperate for help.
To say mom was nurturing would be perjury,
but ain't her fault, she ain't been right since the surgery.
He played the good son, put some work in
that daddy couldn't do cuz he was living with his girlfriend.
He liked to play his Xbox, like the other kids,
listened to Pac & Slipknot, like the other kids,
watched flicks where people got shot, like the other kids,
& some of their folks acted a lot like his mother did.
Picture tryna maintain,
other kids dads & moms had jobs profiting from people's pain.
Other kids had tons of friends, he only had one.
But that friend had a basement full of dad's guns.
Picked one up & no longer felt that dumb,
"Who's the faggot now? Who's the little fat cunt?"
What's a human life worth? If it's taken in a battle, it's a casualty,
in the burbs, it's a tragedy,
in the hood, it's a statistic, but point a biscuit
at some rich kids & the hypocrite bitches'll go ballistic.
Ain't like he'd be missed if he vanished from school,
that is, unless he did some shit that could air on the news,
you know. He really need some space to get his head right,
maybe a trusted friend to open up & let fly,
won't let no one see his poetry & death rhymes,
red ink, bone white paper where his pen slide.
Instead he kept it inside & stayed petrified,
but on the surface looked as common as the next guy.
Homework, bedtime, alarm clock, dread time,
back to the same grind, maybe today they'll let him shine.
Maybe today they'll let him shine.
Maybe today they'll let him shine.
Maybe today they'll let him shine.
Maybe today they'll let him shine.
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Fellowman Charlottesville, Virginia
Literate, lyrical, hard-hitting hiphop from Charlottesville, Virginia, USA.
Fellowman is a
rapper, producer, promoter and educator, the director of the Nine Pillars Hiphop Cultural Fest, co-founder of Rugged Arts Hiphop Showcase, and contributor to the Virginia Film Festival.
... more
Fellowman recommends:
In Search of The Black Messiah: Deluxe Edition
by Marcel P. Black
This dude lives & breathes hiphop, one of the most interesting & down to earth people I know.
go to album
i used to love to dream
by A.D. Carson
The first peer-reviewed rap album published by an academic press. I'm honored to know A.D. & to feature him on Death of the Author.
go to album
Appalachian mystics & outsider poets repping the weird side of Southwest VA. (You might not have known there was a non-weird side.)
go to albumIf you like Fellowman, you may also like:
Anthony Kannon & Frost Gamble "Cautionary Tales"
by Anthony Kannon
Rapper Anthony Kannon & producer Frost Gamble join forces on a dozen moody NYC hip-hop songs.
go to album
The Art Of Combos
by Cage Targaryen, So=Cal
featured on Bandcamp Radio Oct 20, 2023
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The Eternal Reflection
by IAMGAWD & Custom Made
featured on Bandcamp Radio Apr 9, 2021
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