The deepest, darkest and most touching joint of Felicity Of The Oppressed. For Yemen, Azaziah leaves it all, blood, sweat, tears, heart and soul, on record. This here is a special one...
Leave It All Behind
Shaku Maku my brothers, Jonathan Azaziah here/I’m reaching out because I know you had a dyer year/But at the same time, your emphatic triumph’s clear/I think about your situation and the anger blazes, and it shifts from this furious rage straight to raining rapidfire tears/Solidarity with truthful roots is what these savage liars fear/‘Cause they don’t mind if you talk about their crimes with moderate condemnation/But when it gets real, and that “Yemen’s cause is our cause” becomes part of the conversation/Then you can notice the criminal pricks are sniveling/And they attack with the volatile combination of cynicalness and ignorance/I loathe my residential status, with its Congress of prostitutes and the presidential maggot, this regime yo it’s despicable just to live in it/When I think about all the miserableness inflicted in Yemen, I wanna take my citizenship and finish it/ My heart is with y’all but my body is in the States/Every American whether they are aware of it or not, is a serf of the Zionist Lobby and its ingrates/If ALLAH (SWT) ain’t give me this gift of rhyme/Yo, I would simply just split my spine/Or I’d deliberately pick a nine/ And hit the nearest AIPAC outpost in the vicinity with some slime/Coffin over serfdom is the way that Hussein (A.S.) did it/The way that the Courageous One Zayd (A.S.) lived it/But there’s another way, I could hop right on a plane to Eritrea or Djibouti and then coolly grab the first boat to the port of Mukha/Join up and fight with y’all against the Saudi royals to secure your future/‘Cause even though I’m Brooklyn-raised and I’m Brooklyn-bred/I’m Iraqi-blooded, I know what these crooks have maimed and these crooks have bled/Yeah, they done cooked our pain and they shook our dead/Baghdad to Sanaa, just look at the destruction they wrought/Corruption they brought, and it would’ve been infinitely worse if it wasn’t for the brothers who fought/That’s why I feel a connection between our peoples/We both refuse to kneel to oppression so we are equals/Yemen to Iraq, one struggle, one love, our brotherhood is type magnanimous/And with noone standing up for y’all in the Western Hemisphere, they’re numb in their chests and legs from fear, who else but I will spit your righteous narrative/There ain’t nobody else, not even a light comparison/With this rhythmic multi-syllabic anti-Parasitic belligerence I give you your gallantness in poetry/And if I didn’t, I’d be literally spitting in the proverbial face of our Creator and the talent He bestowed on me/If I couldn’t, Jihad Of The Strong Arms would be the sole route I take/But since I can so raw, Jihad Of The Ill Quill is how I mow down the snakes/Lyrical Mouqawamah, I will let it rumble to the beat/‘till the plots of the enemy are bungled and deceased from the tunnels to the streets/With y’all ‘till my breath’s gone, I swear it on my uncle the Shahid/
Everything in this life, all of it’s a breeze/If you don’t struggle for the cause of The Supreme (SWT)/If I couldn’t rhyme, I’d leave it all behind/To be right by your side, and fight on the front lines with you/If falling as a martyr’s in the cards/Then I would absorb it as an honor from ALLAH (SWT)/If it is my time, then I’m prepared to fly/
And leave it all behind, to die on the front lines with you/
Being a New Yorker from the ‘jects, I done seen the Jews’ work plan/Only here, it is not Takfiri terrorism but fitnah from liquor and pornographic pictures, Rossiyan-Yahoudi mafia will put that ‘ron all up in ya, and stay woke ‘cause if blue bacon flip ya, that’s a huge curse man/A snitch is akin to a python that slithers, Kaa rolls up, trips ya, you slipped up, prepare to get hit up and subsequently your body will be dumped in the river, yeah I done seen what they do first hand/It’s simple, their notions of chosenness are foul/They believe we’re subhuman but it is them whose soullessness is loud/And this ain’t about a dun or twenty-two of mine who were ruined, fine, that’s true and I’m sad about it but I’m talking generations that are stolen it’s profound/Crack addiction, packing prisons, gats we’re flipping, cats are pimping, they’re slapping sisters, everyone in one way or another is trapped and tricking, there’s rats pursuing cheese but we lack magicians, you see? Is that a tap or ticking? Morse code won’t save you from the bombs of this slum, it’s hopelessness abound/Arabs, Africans and Latinos, we’re the foundational blocks of civilization, we are peoples who are loaded with golden gifts and proud/And they hate us for it so they created a ride to take us on it, make us boorish until we are jaded, corroded, sick and downed/And this is what they’re attempting to do to y’all, only a million, billion, trillion fold/They’re praying to Satan that they can infuse their cultural contagions into your nation, once their Saudi-led silliness holds/But they don’t understand that you could be barefooted and hypothermic with hypodermic needles being pushed deep into your sternum as you walk on the chilliest road/And submission to their malignancy still wouldn’t be on the table/They could master wizardry and capture mystic seeds like Jack and his little beans then Stalk you with transdimensional energies but your Mouqawamah, is still gon’ make ‘em bleed with their fables/It’s ‘cause of that right there that my fucking heart breaks/I had to write this to pay homage and honor your sacrifices as you jab and fight this monster, from such a dark place/But as the instrumental rides and I crush the hard bass, I just feel that it really ain’t enough for y’all, wait/Let me put down the pen, ‘cause the rawest truth is/Even though I was born to do this/I wanna be in Saada, Sanaa or Ma3rib or Ta3iz more right by your side until this war’s conclusion/I would leave my mother and my brother behind/‘cause even though I would shudder and cry if something happened to them la sama7 ALLAH, they know I love them so very much and it’s my/decision, no my mission to tangle with the Dajjalic octopus, so it crumbles and dies/I’d say salaam to my homies and give them daps, hugs and goodbyes/But not my Queen, I know she’d leave with me on my arm, that’s an easy bet/Consider us the first husband-wife team to shoot down a Saudi-Amreeki jet/We feel, think, touch, smell, talk, see and breathe as Yemeni/As I do Iraqi and she does Lebanese/I feel as Zaynabi Kufan and her as Husseini Jnoubiyeh as we do Zaydi and Houthi, it’s a special love/We look at y’all, truly as our flesh and blood/But right before we decided to take the flight to soar into this new life afar/I heard a whisper like a lyrical elixir from Sayyed Hussein al-Houthi, who schooled me and told me we need your voice, it’s a lightning rod/Your poetic might is large, The Most Bright, ALLAH (SWT) blessed you with a verbal knife that’s sharp/Don’t you give it up, it wouldn’t just be quite bizarre, but viced and tarred/It is forbidden plus we wouldn’t forgive you ‘cause you were meant to slay mics with bars/I promise we’re good here, so go ahead and write your psalms/Spit your rhyme kid like we split the virus and rip this swine with the Zelzals and Striking Stars/
All lyrics are the copyrighted intellectual property of Jonathan Azaziah a.k.a. Madd Cold.
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