This one flick at Sundance
(I killed to get in),
As We Speak it was called,
about rap as a sin.
About rap as a tool
to impeach and imprison;
and not as reflection,
creation, or vision.
It showed us the law,
prosecutors precise,
who twist up a lyric
just thinkin’ they nice.
That man who was shot?
At that store down the block?
Well Kemba once said:
All my competition’s dead…
So isn’t it clear?
He looks like he did it…
But that’s not PC so
let’s look at his lyrics.
Follow pattern, you see,
which is way way way old,
contra human responses
like blues jazz and soul.
So with Kemba we travel
to the poetry cradles:
libraries, floors,
of course diner tables;
to those jesters performing,
to those jokers locked up,
asking what happened?
and who gave a fuck?
And we see it’s just people,
calmness and eyes.
Jokes, explanations,
just done to survive.
So long story short,
this doc is a fluid:
factfiction blurring like
ain’t nothin’ to it.
One moment we’re student,
one moment on trial.
One moment we crumble,
another we smile.
So rap is on trial.
As we speak
yes right now.
Speech is on trial.
As We Speak
shows us how.