we done farm soldiers down here
shove brown steeds into barrio stables
pull calves from the fertilizer
feed em the corpses of their uncles
fill them with lots of death early on
plant a football in their hands
get them used to the idea of
penetrating enemy territory
give them a rifle and a bottle of beer
make them stick their fists up
the skirts of their sisters
tear all of the nerve right out of them
yeah we done farm soldiers here
cause you got to have soldiers if you
want to be the one running things
here we got all the soldier meat
you would ever possibly need
we pluck them from they wombs
make them eager for they graves
and we got em available for the
lowest prices in the region
we'll squeeze their heads and
widen their shoulders for you
teach them to
sick
roll over
beg
play dead
we feed them the remains of the
other ones who can't keep up
learn them to hate they makers
throw them bones whenever they hate on cue
slap them if they show a hint of empathy
starve them if they exhibit a single atom of love
yeah you got to teach them to hate
hate their siblings
make them fear the unknown
then make sure they don't know anything
so everything is unknown
then we grind them out
divy them up
pound them full of pharmaceuticals
we brand them and
learn them to loathe those
with different brands
so when you send them abroad
theyll be ready and eager to
shred some dark meat
and you got to make them
hate they women
make them kick them when they speak
make them pierce them with their anger
so the next round of steeds come out
ready to break stuff open
ready to march and holler
see here we got the finest
killing machines in the hemisphere
ready to be shipped out
as soon as you need them
we guarantee you theyll be empty
when they arrive at your camp
theyll be ready to
kill their own mothers
if you ask them to
and we know you will
place your orders now
theyve been farmed
to love their masters
and hate their brothers
so when you sick them
on each other
like roosters in a cockfight
they wont stop until theres
nothing left except
liquified guts and
a thirst
a thirst for more
a thirst to intimidate and eliminate
yeah we done farm soldiers here
this is our business and
let me tell you boy
business is good
PSA
I am infatuated with her vocal cords
When she sings
The concrete cracks
Petunias sprout up from
Every crevice
Truth rings from her diaphragm
In a major key
Tiny birds birth soliloquys
In her songs
Voiceless citizens are given
Honorary degrees
When she decides to belt a chorUS
The dead are provoked to dream
She does not own a Grammy
No one pays her for her melodies
Her only entourage is me
She says she is no Ella Aretha
Sinead or even Siouxie
Thinks she doesn't create
Silver lined notes
but her voice is gold to me
Her punk rock broadway ditties
Rescucitate her listeners unequivocally
She trembles
When she croons
We tremble with her
In her invincible vulnerability
And we are thankful for the gift
Whether she likes (knows) it
Or not
The Hudson River
At night she sparkles
Like a drag queen on the way to the club
A chain link fence of car radios
Emitting from her neck
An aroma of festive solitude
Doused in the perfume of Linguini Marinesca
As weekend warriors and college dropouts
Disco along her waist
Forging a leather belt from
The Battery to the Heights
Crude and refined
Like our aunts and grandmothers
She watches our missteps and
Teases with fierce tenderness
Blushes if the men on the pier
Start whistling
Break it down/ Tear it up
When we break it down they go and tear it up
When we gather round they go and break it up
We’re the children of the children of an insecure god
Reclamation of our language slanging like a lighting rod
Wandering through worlds that ain’t really ours
The only thing we own is our battle scars
When they harden and they callous we return to our source
When we sing we fill the chalice redirecting the course
Of the battleship that’s headed toward our memories
With their alibis they barricade our simple pleas
When we break it down they go and tear it up
When we gather round they go and break it up
We’re the children of the children of an insecure god
Reclamation of our language slanging like a lighting rod
Dropping jokes like napalm on their propaganda
Working out our wit to KO their slander
They keep the libraries out of our neighborhood
Cause they know that if we read we’ll take another look
At our situation and we’ll cause a scene
Cause liberation is in our DNA its in our genes
When we break it down they go and tear it up
When we gather round they go and break it up
Break it up
Break it up
