«Saul Williams» - «Telegram»

Telegram
I'm falling up flights of stairs
Scraping myself from the sidewalk
Jumping from rivers to bridges
Drowning in pure air

Hip Hop is lying on the side of the road half dead to itself
Blood scrawled over its mangled flesh like jazz
Stuffed into an oversized record bag
Tuba lips swollen beyond recognition

Diamond studded teeth strewn like rice at karma's wedding
The ring bearer bore bad news
Minister of information wrote the wrong proclamation
And now everyone's singing the wrong song

Dissonant chords find necks like nooses
That nigga kicked the chair from under my feet
Harlem shaking from a rope, but still on beat
Damn, that loop is tight

That nigga found a way to sample the way, the truth, the light
Can't wait to play myself at the party tonight
Niggas are gonna die
Cop car swerves to the side of the road

Hip Hop takes its last breath
The cop scrawls vernacular manslaughter onto a yellow pad
Then balls the paper into his hand
Deciding he'd rather free-style

You have the right to remain silent
You have the right to remain silent
And maybe you should have, maybe you should have
Before your bullshit manifested

These thugs can't fuck with me
They're too thugged out
Niggas think I'm bugged out
'Cause I ain't Sean John or Lugged out

This ain't hip hop no more, son
It's bigger than that
This ain't ghetto no more, black
It's bigger than black

So where my aliens at?
Girl, we're all illegal
This system ain't for us
It's for rich people

And you ain't rich, dawg
You just got money
But you can't buy shit
To not get hungry

Telegram to Hip Hop:
Dear Hip Hop, stop
This shit has gone too far, stop
Please see that turntables and mixer are returned to Kool Herc, stop
The ghettos are dancing off beat, stop
The master of ceremonies have forgotten that they were once slaves
And have neglected the occasion of this ceremony, stop
Perhaps we should not have encouraged them to use cordless microphones
for they have walked too far from the source and are emitting a lesser frequency, stop
Please inform all interested parties that cash nor murder have been included to the list of elements, stop
We are discontinuing our line of braggadocio, in light of the current trend in "realness", stop
As an alternative, we will be confiscating weed supplies, replacing them with magic mushrooms
In hopes of helping niggas see beyond their reality, stop
Give my regards to Brooklyn

These thugs can't fuck with me
They're too thugged out
Niggas think I'm bugged out
'Cause I ain't Sean John or Lugged out

This ain't hip hop no more, son
It's bigger than that
This ain't ghetto no more, black
It's bigger than black

So where my aliens at?
Girl, we're all illegal
This system ain't for us
It's for rich people

And you ain't rich, dawg
You just got money
But you can't buy shit
To not get hungry

These cats can't fuck with me
I purr purple
Sewed in crease
Too shelled like a turtle

I walk the streets
Like the lie that I'm telling
One listener grips his knee
And starts yelling

I see through speakers
I speak what's seen
I eat and shit
I sleep and dream

I walk the streets of London
Like, "Know what I mean?"
And chill in Wagamama's eating crisp soy beans
It's like that