Alright, this is Steven Nicholson from Jackson, Michigan Cotton Correctional Facility. Been a long time, a little while since I’ve been on here. Now I’m back. This poem is called “Just a No Name.”
Honing my skills like a craftsman and his saw, or a Skil Sawzall.
I’m verbal like herbal tea, and verbally, I lay these bars, raw.
As a player from the D, I used to mercilessly gain them drawers.
Now I elaborately spit these bars as epiphanies to lead these sheep to the cross.
And, I don’t claim to be a boss,
I ain’t out here making hits.
I’m just trying to persist with righteous [inaudible]
from negligent governments, misusing the power that they possess.
So if you with me, let’s flex, like Funkmaster.
Don’t be a hatin’ bastard,
attacking the work of those working for the master.
I just wanna capture truth in a bottle that’s so massive,
it will help to save the masses before the rapture.
Are you now enraptured, wondering,
What’s the rapture?
The media masses will credit body-snatchers when it happens,
It’s a catching-away in the language of Latin.
Even with words as smooth as satin,
and lacking that cryptic diction for blatant intention
and near indifference regarding subject matter,
I’m still just a man who don’t matter to the masses.
My warnings go unanswered.
Don’t get caught with your pants down like a serial flasher.
If you think CFC is a bastard,
Wait to see you miss leaving for heaven with the master.
Left behind in what’s left of earth’s disaster,
Don’t be fooled by those who clamor,
claiming peace is the answer and they have it.
Silly rabbit. Jesus is the answer. Peace without him is just a piece of the fabric woven by the master craftsman. And that’s all.
These commentaries are recorded by Noelle Hanrahan of Prison Radio.