On The D Train Sitting on the D train flicking my joint, in your mummies roots Are you their clutching my survival? on a planet call zombie’s block. Standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form in the mist of the tunnel, hookers out for the night, public transportation riding among the rats of a new revolution. Blowing my horn, city lights dialects covered up in boxes, train smelling like a pissed out toilet, riding on the d train, holding my wallet close to my heart. Underground railroad playing the moody mood blues, junkies waking up, and falling the sleep at the same time, black boy play those drums, as the hooded patrol establishment, monitoring the trains of the hooded mask. BITC with horse hair hanging down their back, faces made up as clowns, dresses up their AS/, black dollops in the image of painted faces, and white masks smelling of dead fish as you pass there way, give me twenty dollars I will be your fantasy for to night. Give me that down home corn liquor Straight from my daddy’s patch Give me some of that down home corn liquor Straight from my daddies patch. When I finish singing the blues Daddy got to make a brand new batch I m a country girl down from the woods Watch me work. Mama said girl you are to young to leave this place I said mama I will be out here when the rooster crows. Give me some of that down home corn liquor I hear de blues in my mind, tapping my feet trying to get to the A train one more time, play that moody blues, black boy , play it until the chow chow arrive. Don’t sleep if you do your goods will become the rat that sniffs through the night, Finding my way to the Harlem light, standing at the edge of the plight, Bombarded by the underground lights. The grime stuck to my mind, it was no man's grime but death and human trans of discuss, the smell of CUN, the cigar stick, to plunge it in the darken holes of the toxin birth cannel of rotten fish, the rubber band wore out as the black rivers turn to dust. I stand tall as the monkey on my back take me for a ride. The pimp man stands and watch the whores of the night, lying back as white powder release me my mind, and the sweat races to another level call world, and the music blasting, I think I went to hell, waiting to catch the A train on my way back, rats a running up the rail way track, trying to figure out who is the man and who is the rat. Riding on the D train my visions Harlem, and Hells of the crowded tunnels, dirty rivers, bridges clanking, The smell of dead life, hotels in the hole in the walls, whores on the stroll, sugar daddy play that song for me, razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past, dodge the bullet that just went off, the hooded regime bang bang, give me what you got. Dope man on the Conner of the darken walls, tunnel of darkness children of the night. we're blessed said the grand reaper, sitting on the bench, with a joint in his hand, waiting for the next victim, to subside his death, divagation inner city guide by the white powder, hairy naked accomplishment bodies forming, into cages of rages, growing into mad black formability screaming in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of the Doctors of insanity, I'm with you grand reaper where you must feel very strange I'm with you grand reaper where you imitate the shade of my mother and stripped my father of his in heritage, I'm with you grand reaper where you've murdered your visions of change and any hope of survival on the D train. I'm with you in the marks men pen, where you laugh at this invisible man, who do you serve grand reaper, smoking the gunja awaiting the next train.