The Midnite Gospel

Turn up the moon and increase the volume on my side of town chronics run through the dumps but never slump because you gotta keep it cool inna streets of Makikz the freaks come out to play and I run through like it’s night not day I pay my dues and respect the lepo in time get this mud on my feet to make Haloa mine at this rhyme is the best time to plant my kalo inna d night time watch em hatch and climb I tell you the midnight gospel was not made inna d day time. 

Crime and criminal is taken inna shade as my bars are subliminal terminal is the plastics days and I burn them down to a crisp I call my chickens to come and eat the maggots and spit you out in the name of the righteous and true like the lake of fire on mōku o keawe there will be no waters of Kane a wāhine ho’o make oe a uhane lepo e hale Moa I oe hale. 

Like a thief inna night I feed them pedialyte for the site to one day dream of an over standing Mike you know Micheal the arch angel degree finder on angels and angles in which we believe I tell dem leave but no site I bust down nightmares and monsters tonight. Unleash the fury of one hundred and fourty four thousand poltergeists to the ones that might blow up and blow off sit down and show off I tell you it’s right and I left home tonight to come inside a pipe dream smoked by none other than crack heads and fiends lean on me when you’re not strong strong arm Hawaiians will sing dis song YEEESSAAAAA

Nuff said in toughness my crocs are smooth from manifesting through the roughness. The jungles presence is a decadent bush I tell Makiki bush lord I know it well, from the boulders that spilled down the kalawahine hill to the stoneys that roll up tantalus well. You see I descend lower and lower beneath the concrete until I become centered and so deep the darkness of space is pulled together by me I put the hilariousness in fear and comedy in terror and the love in a sutor and a love in the weather and the love in the aether and love in oven to be the most deliciously golden corn bread to ever whiff itself from the dead.

You know I think about what I’d say in situations late at night smoking my stogie listening to dishes clanking, people walking over manholes, cars driving by, the occasional door opening, to cypher the divine in the dim streetlights like the limes were lit and I got a little lick off that green lemon just a lil sour to get a kick. 

Righteousness ensues and liberation is an eternal process. To grow from shells and eggs and wombs in times past and times future times the number God has given you this revolution started the minute we thought about evolution. To break the concrete and grow, to survive against all odds and circumstances, to live beyond the realms of what was made possible by a white Christian God. I say to you that in this life we must emancipate ourselves from the shackles of self inflicted regression  and foreign and domestic opression. We must grow our faith in the unseen and the unknown, it is in faith that our ancestors survived a thousand mile voyage acrosss the pacific, it is in faith that our ancestors have suffered rape robery and murder at first contact for five hundred years to then surmise supremely to become Gods once more. One day, after we have fought the great fight, after this is all said and done, after we have paid our debts and dues to the universe at large, we will stand at  the twelve gates with twelve angels sitting on the thrones of Gold. The chief amongst them will ask “who is worthy of entering into the kingdom of God” and we will rise above the ranks in the most proudest of fashions and say “I AM”.