Saul Williams - The Dead Emcee Scrolls

All rights administered by Unichappell Music Inc. All rights reserved. Used by permission. Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com This book is dedicated
to the dedicated: Afronauts of over
crammed space, those of
sewed-in creases and
ironed shoelaces, Gazelle
framed screw-faces. Way before court cases
were platinum sales,
quest for mix-tapes like
the Holy Grail. Retro
earthquake fitting.

Metro landmark bidding. NGHs was wiggin out! Newburgh know what
Im talking bout. B
boys! B-girls! Caesars and Jheri curls. This book is dedicated
to the under-rated
hustler, high school
dropouts, school dance
shoot-outs, NGHs with
Uzis! Bitches and
floozies! This book is dedicated to
yall too! Pull your
panties up and feel me! Help me, lord. Heal me. This book is dedicated to
the Sunday preacher:
the original pimped out,
laid back hustler, with
God on his side and
Italian leather in his ride.

Toot your horn
and feel me. This book is dedicated to
the sho nuff sho nuff. The nappy dugout:
corn-rowed, twisted and
braided and the NGH
who parlayed it into cold
cash. NGH, you crazy! Im a sick my dogs on
you. This book is dedicated to
those who prayed for it,
who saw it before it was
here, who sensed it from
the beginning. This book is dedicated to
the beginning.

Before
before and right now. This book is dedicated to
the lunch table. The
boom bap. I still got my
12 inch of Spoonin Rap! To all the original
blueprints. I know ya
heard of that! This book is dedicated
to yellow caps in
Lemon Heads boxes
(Krak Attack!), three
quarter bombers, and
Africans selling time
machines in Times
Square by moonlight
(clear nail polish on fake
gold will make it last
longer. Not yet. Not yet.

But this book is dedicated
to that too!). Name belts,
name rings, name-plates,
gold ropes, door knocker
earrings, and gold fronts. This book is dedicated to
that more than once. This book is dedicated to
Phillie blunts, Oakland
Raider jackets, X caps,
Spikes Joint, and a
bunch of shit that
became corny overnight. This book is dedicated to
those that write! Fab 5,
Futura, Doze, shake your
cans and feel me! This book is dedicated to
floor wizards spinning on
backs, head, and hands,
and cute girls that aint
afraid to dance. But, nah, it aint only
about the old school.

This book is dedicated to
platinum grills and apple
bottoms. Backpackers in
Benzes with white Jesus
medallions and his crown
of diamond thorns
hanging from their
necks. Hardy har har,
NGHs. Change clothes
and feel me. This book is dedicated to
moguls, def to death. Please dont take a shit
on the chest of our
generation (Vicelord,
your majesty).

Ugly
NGHs with money to
burn. The ass thou
pimpest shall be thine
own. Funk God I know
you feel me. Now let me
hold a lil something so I
can get the IRS off my
back (I cant always bring
myself to pay taxes to a
government that uses our
money to steal more land
and ignore the ongoing
plight of the poor in our
names! Whats realer
than that?). All this
money is dirty. You cant
buy freedom, but lets
buy some airtime and
shelf-space and elevate
this freedom of speech.

Free your mind,
brother. Peaceful Pimpin
since 72. Ask my baby
mamas, theyll tell ya. What? You never heard
of that? This book is dedicated to
Crunchy Black,
Willie D, Face, Kane,
and all you dark-skinned
cats that had to smile to
be seen. This book is dedicated to
freedom, although it
comes at a cost. Dont steal it, yall
(steal should read
find if the subject is
white, in which case
the subject is free
to help himself).

This book is dedicated to
white people, cause yall
feel it too. All these
so-called races. What we
runnin for? Dont believe
the hype! We are one. This book is dedicated to
greater understanding,
power, and NGHs with
enough game to flaunt it. This book is dedicated to
Yahshua Clay (You know
who you is NGH, Stand
up!), Niggy Tardust,
Tennessee Slim
(Detonate!), Soggy Lama
III (and the sirens of
Atlantis that sing his
praises), Zupert Henry
(your mamas car aint
faster than mine, boy),
Rebekka Holylove (hip
hip shalom!), and the
luminous heroes of
today, now, and
forevermore (I hold
my nuts as I exit)! P.S. Did you know the
mothership was built in
Newburgh, NY? Thats
what I be meanin when I
say Word to the Mother.
Selah.

In the final analysis, every generation must be responsible
for itself. PAUL ROBESON