marsy mars – trayvonmarti lyrics
verse 1
“versace, versace i’m black with a hoody is that why you shot me?”
fugazi, versace exchange facts in jail with defendants all walking free
versace, kiss my right cheek, this is the product of trial by media
their verdict that screams “f+ck the evidence i’ll swear upon wikipedia”
versace, the people’s relation to truth weds like lawson n saatchi
bias, racism, ignorance all shish+kebabed on a nodachi
don’t talk to me to just to jack off your self+righteousness that’s an affront to me
your following thе pack and three+bit news thinkpieces it smokеs like a blunt to me
while rappers’re like “versace, versace, versace, versace, versace, versace, versace
my scr+t+m’s versace, my roll ‘ems versace, new foreskin’s versace”
this boulder’s versace, when i hold em up i hold em with versace
we’re having a party, sit pia mia across the table see mars sits his +rs+ n gets nasty
we wanted to roll but we could only find this second+hand wrapping paper
but hey the present is improvised, the future? we’ll worry about that later
if the future comes past, we’ll break out the havarti and break into versace
i want the motion of the world to run silky, a versace koyaanisqatsi
verse 2
those words were scribed by eyes reflecting
the light of fires of racial tumult as the fires mixed
lit by those who uphold human natures as fixed, and
scribed not by me, but by the belief that to differ is
to be in everlasting conflict; two kinds of racial essentialist
verse 3
both wished for rule by miracle
mystery and authority; much as i did with
my brother’s epigraphs, they longed for their
scripture’s clarification, while also begging
that such clarity never come, and custody
over the resultant insights never begun
that longing, it’s the chaos of confluence polluted
a two+faced, two+raced sprite
which in pressing our appetite for that
miracle, mystery and authority, fulfils
that same appetite, recalling
that time in our life when such elements
are, through our unknowing, in flowing
abundance, through every path not taken
every river unforded that could have been
charted hankie+sailed raft aboard
it admits no hunger for an answer; it merely
delights in the symphonic echo of the cry “what if?”
it is hard above all things, when in pain, to conciliate
when in blood to remain before the desire to comprehend, prostrate
but no enemy can be bested that was not first understood
waiting out the course the greatest g+nius of the good
dad once remarked “they’re the double agents of fate
who’ll commit to a worthy cause through hate”; watching
those fires i realised we feared one of the same things, and my
what relieved camaraderie is that mutual enemy able to bring!
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