"I'm just a rhyme sayer
skins protected 'gainst the ozone layers..."

"Git, git, git, git down
911's a joke in yo town..."

"But supposin' she said she loved me..."

"You can ask my man right here with the broken neck..."

"40 acres and a mule, Jack..."

"Hear the drummer get wicked..."

Welcome to the Terrordome! Think different. A concept album (1990) by Public Enemy, but, then again, they all were, back when Chuck D was on his game. "Race mixing", claustrophobic paranoia (a mind is a terrible thing to baste) for all (a Rainbow Coalition's worth), digital négritude by meat-analog fooles. If "rap is the CNN of the streets", then PE was (is?) the Times of London cross(ed s)word(s) (cross words?) of rap-hop, edited by Ishmael Reed.

Fear kept up the agitprop of the past, and added a little more funk (thank you), a little less stridence in the beats (but not in the beliefs, with the massed presences of S1W, Professor Griff, Tawana Brawley, and "a nation of millions" in Spike Lee's "Fight the Power" video - it would take a few more years to get a kinder, gentler Chuck), neither too Native Tongue happy (though the funkiness may have come from their ascendance), nor too gangsta bad (thank you). Just the PE Posse in full effect (oh, shoot me if I try to talk "street"). It contains my personal theme song, "Burn Hollywood ('n here's my lighter, G - I think I hear my pops callin') Burn" (long before Honest John Lydon swiped it for a minute). One for the time capsule, home slice (shoot me!). Mine, anyway. And lo, these many years later, the joke remains on you.

Fight the power. Fuck the man. Check this mirror: you are the man. Ain't no iMacs in Bed-Stuy! Who put this node here? Shaniqua? Uh uh.

Mister Ridenhour, did I excuse you?

"So step and fetch this shit."

It's all about the density. Or is it?

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