Son of Gotham

by Hakim

Yes 
This 
Is 
The 
Place 

20 year-old graffiti glows in the dark tunnel from the bright headlights
Like some strange hieroglyphics with secrets of a great fallen kingdomís past life 

Yes 
This 
Is 
The 
Place 

Pools of straphangers pour into the cramped IRT express train
Rushing for an hour 
Sullen faces, some expressionless
Knotted ties in pressed collars 
Stretch their scarf-cloaked necks towards the white florescent lights 
Trying not to drown in the sea of perpendicular limbs
People push and crimp hands into pockets 
To protect their dead presidents and wallets 
>From pickpockets
This iron rocket is filled to the rim
Some slim young cat 
In a New Yawk Yankees World Series fitted ball cap blast 
Hits from the past of Chris Wallace 

Yes 
This 
Is 
The 
Place 
Where I want to hear my last rights 
Before I exit the proverbial sliding doors 
And rise to celestial heights

Hits from Chris Wallace 
"JUICY!"
Hits from Chris Wallace 
"One More Chance"
Hits from Chris Wallace 
"Hypnotize"
Hits from the past of Chris Wallace
This city is Godless 
Or at least thatís what most cynics would like we to think 
That somehow I was born in a sea eye tea why that rest in the belly of the beast 
On the brink
We rock violently back and forth and screech through tunnels effortlessly 
In steel links 
Moving past hidden streets at lightning speeds 
Daily News tabloid provides the morning read
Scents of coffee in paper cups some stuff bagels with cream cheese 
On the go, go, go! Even how we eat 
People make asynchronous orbits around ME 

Yes 
This 
Is 
The 
Place 
Where 
I 
Need 
To 
Be

Sometimes I have to nudge a muthafucka 
Just so he knows to respect my space 
Some apologize 
Thatís my bubbleÖYou lookiní for trouble
Others look quick across my territorial face 
Chicks armed with key-chains and mace, no smile 
We donít do that here 
Speak when spoken to 
And seldom we care 
Eye contact is like a signed contract to reach in pockets and pull out change 
Sprinkle lose coins into some homeless guys hat
Heís moved on 
But his stench still remains 
Home of the 2-foot rat 
That frequents the never-ending city tracks 
This is the place where air quality already lacks 
We ainít scared of no stinkiní Anthrax!
Nine Eleven we saw this city maimed 
I canít front, I still duck when I hear approaching airplanes 
20 year-old graffiti glows in the dark tunnel from the bright headlights
Like some strange hieroglyphics with secrets of a great fallen kingdomís past life 
Yes 
This 
Is 
The 
Place 
Where I want to hear my last rights 
Before I exit the proverbial sliding doors 
And rise to celestial heights

Yes 
This 
Is 
The 
Place 
Where I want to hear my last rights 
Before I exit the proverbial sliding doors 
And rise to celestial heights 



Son of Gotham by Hakim

© Copyright 2006. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.


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