Written out of the desperation that our people will never trivialize the holocaust of crack cocaine. Souls to be saved can be found Howling through flaming hoops like "Crack-Law's Dog" Salivating at the suggestive rings Of Westernized Kamitic kings All about they, cocked fitted hats and Keepin their white tees clean. Oh if only the impending singe of the flame would dissuade The drooling-jawed tomato-eyed, Who gather into atrophied tribes where Busted down calf muscles shuffle toward The Apple-white fruits of D.C.'s Heaven's Gate as Hale-y Sealssie's lost brother Bopps down degraded blocks Ducking castrated Marshalls Cometing rocks towards complacent temples for dark deceased slaves. The golden resin fizzles as flame claims the circus act And she bellows out beached-whale ballads to lovers long-gone and Struts and gathers remembered compliments No longer suited for the stained bordello walls her vessel has become. "Sister stop! Pleasure is not a God!" Conscience cautions, but All is blue and brought-together in the endorphin sea And that Old-Time Religion is feel-good Hips gyrating and swine-fattened titties swimming In the mental-then-physical grips of Bishops with blunt-blackened lips And as the collection plate is passed Nasty Old Man Willis eases against her African ***, so Is an evil white man *really* responisble for the crack lab Or just for perfecting a tried formula N*ggas already had? Souls to be saved have been parodied for frat drinking games The new Black Plague is characterized as Tyrone Flapping into an intervention for the Free Crack Giveaway St. Clair susbtance slaves are centralized comedy for City Blue Addicts who unknowingly suffer The exact same **** thang.