Father MC

A tisket
A tasket
A Gulf Coast gasket
Blown to smithereens
Drops careen off primed walls
Newly installed with dry faith
Faith that dried the people's tears
Faith that calmed the wounds
From the gales whipping the Mississippi jellyfish
Aunt Katrina's mean old death wish
One night, BP fishes for trouble
Invites Vanessa over, a jeopardy double
After the Saints marched in, riding Colts
Filling the house with hurricanes from yours truly, Pat O'Brien
Hand grenades lobbed with heat
A Bourbon Street swap meet
Cupid throws drunk stars
Nessa opens up too far
Start to kiss men
Staining up salt beards
Before they hit bars
They were it
Her palms of oil said so
Men run to kiss Vanessa back
She's it
Then she runs to kiss Obama
He says nope, I don't drive anymore
Vanessa still has it
Swamp folk got it again

Gentrification

George Clinton has a brain
Brighter than a Zenith Technicolor
When he colored the cities chocolate, and the suburbs vanilla
The city smelled like fresh urine
Too many black people bleeding on the concrete
Defeat pushing their eyebrows down
But never out of 125th street
Or Bed-Stuy. Or Oakland
Or Benton Harbor. Or Detroit
Or Atlanta. Or D.C.
Or New Orleans
HMV dared to scratch up the mixtape. But they got scratched off the block
Mixtapes are now compact discs
Compact with hooks about
Platinum, Vandalism, and Sexualism
Romanticisms about the things in the hood that have changed
Changes in the faces of the crowd
From Black on Black to Black on Carribean on White
On Dominican on European
Adding itself to the true testament of Hobbes’ Leviathian
That the state has absolute legal power
To build a Disney store
For children without memories and floating balloons
Of their own superheroes
Mighty Mouse, even