“All of the Mics”

Turn off them lights

KCPL is too high.

All is need is one spotlight,

Surrounded by Shabbat candles, toss me tha mic

All I need is one mic

Because Out of A Millie poets

There exists… one mic.

So turn off them lights so I can make this poem cry.

Turn up the mic to the maximum volume that I like.

Turn up the mics I want yall to hear this

And please Make sure the mic I get

 Is still wet and drenched

Still drippin saliva of the hardest poet’s spit

Gimme a golden mic and I’ll make it a Red Light Special in this ish…

Or gimme a cordless black mic and I’ll speak about some real shit

Like the September 11, January 11, and March 11, coincidence?

New York, Haiti, Japan now knows that the Boogeyman does exist

This time he’s coming, not here to frighten the kids

Turn up my mic I want that mutha so n so to hear this shit…

So turn up the mic in hear baby,

Extra loud I want yall to hear this

Turn up the mic in here baby

You know what I need,

I want yall to hear everything…so turn up the mics.

To the hating ass niggas, criticizing my rhymes

I want them to hear this.

Turn down the mic for just one second so I can microphone whip em with this.

Turn it back up I want the Kansas City streets to hear this

Let my voice cover the screams and cries of the thugged out ghetto kids

Loud enough to cover the colors of the new era, green, blue, pink and purple wigs.

Slowly down the volume, for all of have to say, not enough ink in my pen.