Sunday Morning Brunch in Cuba

from Communiqu​é​s by ABEARICA

/

lyrics

All I need are hustlers. None of you busters: none of you that lust the money and luster. Who will be there for poetry slams in prison facilities, inspire, set fire, expire hostilities? Who will cease to insist that nothing's as real as the grip of steel and the release of homo-erotic hollow tips? I'm hedging all bets with stacks of chips, the metaphorical kind you cop from these lips, it's the converted covert that makes your dome hurt from processing the poetry this metro blurts, this is just a short work made in the basement, bass mentality so real you can taste it, the basics are in this, elements are evident where this politan exhibits the intricate so relish it, like a mustard sting in your nose, these prose are shaper than bows, expose you to yourself like imploded lobes

Cleverish, devilish, absurdist propaganda
That flips you for real like a usual suspect and it's
Hotter than raw sex when you put it in context
Of fucking you mentally, knock you up with some sense

So how absurd can it be when I'm spitting?
Am I wrong or confused? Someone give me religion
Or I'll play the lottery and hold faith in the system
One day it will all pay off if I listen

My producer on this is a card carrying socialist, works only with leftists and only those he’s close with and so I'm privileged to spit on this, put my stamp with his amp on this and camp in the basement and plan our underhandedness. The next evasive action is to subvert the fascists and practice the mastery of informing the masses, without the crushing weight of censorship by the right-wing's monopoly on communication partnerships that will broadcast misogyny, hegemony, and status qou cacophonies, but will not recognize legitimate philosophies. It's absolute hypocrisy as they claim liberalism. Show me a liberal and I'll show you the killer in them. They'll give a little bit more to the poor to keep most of it and side with the right when state of war has been posted. It's a simple debate on whose rules you should follow: your own or some cocksucker telling you how to swallow.

credits

from Communiqu​é​s, released March 31, 2010
words by William R.

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