If 6 Was 9
Tell me.
Tell me.
Who? Tell me who.
Who among you
In these pews
Is going to come through
To do what you need to do?
When the many mini versions of you
Walk up to that church door
Smelling like weed, trippin’
Off ecstasy on their way
To practice voodoo
Tell me who?
Who among you in these pews
Are going to come through
To do what you need to do?
Will it be you?
Sitting right there.
Who knew?
Who knew!
That this counterfeit Oreo could reflect that hidden part of your soul.
Gross tasting fake-ness in the percentage of this congregation.
Part-over whole.
Who plays their part in digging this hole?
Two black prisoners for one black minister
Are you rejecting
This mission
Like breaking a needle
On a man made of mountains
Whose skin color tells him he can touch no pinnacle
His skin color tells him this valley is the pinnacle.
So tell me
Who is going to come through
When the many mini versions of you
Are at the altar of the gate
Of the parking lot a block away?
Who blocks the Way?
From the altar that’s a gate to the Author.
Is that parking lot in your peripheral
A black boys pinnacle?
Tell me who.
Is going to come through
When your future has its pants sagged
Its hat turned back walking towards the altar
Yielding himself to be altered
Is the world behind him?
Love the heart harder than Gibraltar.
Love harder than those stones that cause evolution in a pocket monster.
These kids are not monsters.
They have an adversary steady telling them
“Luke I am your father”.
Silence!
Slice!
The devils arms off in a saber fight
Do the work of Christ
In Luke 6:9
Because if the sun resists to shine
They won’t mind.
