Leopold The Apostle

buck 65:
these jagged rhythms run me ragged,
i see stars and sing, swing low in a tortured voice.
when candy-coated chariots pick me up hitch-hiking,
i'll be wearing a viking's helmet.
seldom do projects truly sell themselves,
if the walls of sleep could talk,
they'd truly finish all my sentences for me.
modern medicines make it difficult for me to operate machinery.
i leave it to surgeons to determine who writes the sermon.
lucky bastards shouldn't look up when i read from the good book.
i'll get my chance, i'll have the last dance,
all eyes on me as i b-boy to beethoven the sixth.
with a batton in one hand and a bull horn in the other,
i command all hands on deck.
i mix love and devotion with no headphones.
i cannibalize hannibal's remains and sip slowly from my ex-keeper.
to appease the ventrical demon inside my science, i make an offering.
a bare-chested red-head lies stretched out across my bed-spread,
and rain falls in the flood plains,
the fabric soaks up the blood stains
and i flee the crime scene, shivering inside my vintage time-machine
complete with tinted windows.
the symbols printed on the corner pannel don't mean anything.
i'm all hits, no misses, still i gets no kisses.
according to those supporting the smartest recording artists,
certain hormones are all enraged right now, especially mine.
beat-juggle with double copies of your criminal record.
you let illiterate gypsies read your mind
and inconsiderate hippies lead you blind.
not me and my people, we uphold the gospel
according to leopold the apostle (according to leopold the apostle).

josh martinez:
well we've been told to hold on to the awful truth
when i've seen the cold hands in the open coffin, it's proof
that often we exonerate our dedicated naysayers post-dated,
while leopold was upholding the mold of old players slash martyrs
teaching with blueprints for new charters.
searching and reaching into the heart of matters both material and venereal.
it was surreal to feel empowered in the showers of leopold's spoken powers.
turning broken dreams into fields of flowers.
well i've heard the wisdom of prophets in my lifespan,
well leopold was such a nice man,
why was he taken away so premature?
i'm sure of nothing, except it was purely stuffing for the scarecrows.
it's so rare when those calls are sent out
and then answered by the masses of bands marching
who were called in to halt the charging bulls running loose
amongst the wolves in sheep's clothing.
in fear and loathing, we removed the bodies frozen in mass graves,
and unmasked the slayers of slaves,
and parlayers of depraived thought and then sent 'em to their graves.
we had such a good thing going, the tide was turning in our favor.
the throttled masses woke up in time to follow our savior.
it was in the words of xavier,
leopold's right-hand man, who said the behavior
of man towards fellow man was changing for the better.
culture was rearranging to let in the strange and somewhat deranged setters
of trends who became better friends under the guidance of their guidin'.
leopold trained in shaolin, sitting lost in thought for days on end
only to emerge with an urge to nourish
the hungry and flourish among the malnourished.
it was here he was to make his fatal mistake.
the laws of the land said "every man for himself," and to shake
hands and spread the gospel was a no-no.
communicating on a phonograph with broken records in the aftermath
of men crashing into these very deep mind meetings,
and being that they were cretins,
they dragged leopold through mud and bird dung and covered in blood.
the air was filled with the young children
who reviled the golden tales told by old leopold.
his words stay with me 'til this very day,
held close in my heart in an uncanny way, the day he died martyred
'cause he couldn't hide his warmth inside.
i knew it would forever be cold without leopold.
joshua martinez, dedicated disciple signing off. peace leopold.