BOOK OF THE DEAD

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dread scott

Scott Tyler (born 1965), known professionally as Dread Scott, is an American artist whose works, often participatory in nature, focus on the experience of African Americans in the contemporary United States. His first major work, What Is the Proper Way to Display a U.S. Flag (1989), was at the center of a controversy regarding whether his piece resulted in desecration of the American flag. Scott would later be one of the defendants in United States v. Eichman, a Supreme Court case in which it was eventually decided that federal laws banning flag desecration were unconstitutional. more »

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Oh, God. I'm bleeding
Oh, God. I'm bleeding
Oh, God. I'm dead
Oh, God. You're dead

These amateurs feeding
My sleep paralysis demon
The grim reaper appealing
The grip deepen my evil
The pen hit like a needle
The Ink seep through the easel
The beat drop, it be bop im spike spiegel
We quite regal
Only chop it with the right people
The chalk talking its lethal
But y'all jargon is see through
These dawg barking they leave you
With gnaw marks for no reason
I'm Karl Marx to you heathens
Allah got me through seasons
And y'all wouldn't believe it
We all racing to eden
That God place like a beacon
The raw taste got us teething
The heart aching is even
My jaw break on the cement
The law hate when we breathing
They call jakes to appease us
I partake in the evening
And car take with no keys in
They call names on subpoenas
So im aiming the heat in
The cops face for my freedom
Then hop states like im leaving
A car chase and im speeding
The wrong fate I need healing

The crooks robbers and villains
Who took stock of the winnings
Enough talk of the killings
Just go pin it on niggas
The gold diggers is different
They soul missing on missions
The road triggered by missiles
That blood money gon hit you
Rip skin muscles and tissue
They been ducking the issue
I don't love you or miss you
Especially with the pistol
I'm pissed and my patience brittle
A fist and a ancient sickle
Had to find a way to move the pen
That's word to Tommy pickles

Writing rhymes the only way i got through peril
Where I'm from
They boxed us in til the block so narrow
And the cops gats b great no F scott Fitzgerald
They was at our door with the Lord like christmas carols
Shit is frightening
I might mike tys em
Or write like Dyson
A real nigga license
I'm right in
Between Farrakhan
And jihadi john
Darker than the ambiance of
Malcolm at the Audubon
Click clack
I be gone
All day
I'm blacker than Dante
On Myrte and broadway
They murder in broad day
Mysterious, God's ways
Ain't waiting for Yahweh
I rage
Against the machine i had to get it the con way

Your soul isn't going anywhere
Your body is going anywhere
Nothing is happening after that
When you're dead you are done.
That's it
You can forget it

What about the resurrection?
He says that our people are dead
Negroes are dead
Walking zombies
You're the one that the book is talking about, who is dead
Dead to the knowledge of yourself
Dead to the knowledge of your own people
Dead to the knowledge of your own God
Dead to the knowledge of the devil
Why, you don't even know who the devil is
You think the devil is someone down inside the ground
That's gonna burn you after you're dead
Why, the devil is right here on top of this Earth
And he's giving you hell everyday
And you're still too dead to see it

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