Jevon Jackson

WHAT A THUG'S MIND LOOKS LIKE

Tiger fights and broken street lights,
    no remorse.
A screaming insight that screams for sweet sights
    till its voice gets hoarse.

Silent drama, explosions whisper
    deep within.
Envision tomorrow, the picture's thicker
    with the paint of sin.

Don't wanna see that disengaged,
    troubled spirit.
The thought received, inside the rage
    tucked behind Tupac's lyrics.

Illegal memories, relected upon,
    remember how they gotcha.
Nostalgic misery, one second from gone,
    two seconds before they shot ya.

A bullet's heat, a dead friend's chill,
    still, the gun's in good condition.
Another baby seat, but she was on the pill,
    now his baby's mama is trippin'.

Sexy bitches, in sexy tight clothes
    with fluorescent pink lips.
With the quickness, create ways to unload
    his madness between her hips.

Crazy niggas, villains supreme,
    "Ride or Die" is slogan.
Prove the stigma, flee the scene,
    rock hard and keep on rollin'.

Malcolm X and rebel slaves,
    the whip and whir of sirens.
Broken necks, too black to save,
    too strong to keep 'em silent.

Lion teeth and hard shark fins
    gnaw the chains of history.
Upon ghetto streets, ends begin
    claw through rains of misery.

Demon worthy, take the picture,
    framed, so fuck the cops.
"Heaven's dirty," says the whisper,
    "… and Hell ain't even hot."

Fading scars and fresh tattoos,
    graffiti on the brain.
Below the stars, death and drama ooze
    right inside his vein.

Twisted thoughts and riot dreams,
    rebels move in sections.
Success is sought, but only darkness seen
    when pain explains his questions.

Jevon Jackson

   •   •   •   •   •

THE NOISE REBELS MAKE

This is the place where echoes crumble
upon the stone song silence
of mud and grief.
It's the same beat
derived from inner-city streets,
but the words aren't the same.
The chorus filled with dirt and blame,
rocks and hard knocks,
thugs and warlocks.
The bloomfruit of mind
bruised in burrows and cell blocks.

This song is too heavy
for the soul to recite.
The instrumentals invade your mentals,
relax your mind, absorb the bassline,
it was made to get in you.
Until you sing it every day,
LOUD
and everybody hears it,
from wardens and lieutenants
to wizards and spirits.

This song is too heavy
for the soul to recite.
Disturbed by the words, Love unheard,
A song too crazy for life.

Remove all the dirt, rework the lyrics,
and give Hope a single verse.
Let her grace implore us, a capella, no chorus,
and sing until it hurts.

Jevon Jackson


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