How I Write Killah Priest

When I’m all alone, my chair is a throne
My desk is ruins found from Soviet Union, made of marble and stone
My hat is a crown
Finally my destiny’s found
My journey begins
Pick up my pen
Like a brush, start to scuff art galleries and galaxies
Once my pallet is squeezed, the pilot can see
My crown now grows great wings
The music sound is a breeze
I begin to lift off like a king on the back of a dragon
Anything I imagine can be seen in my graphics
Tablets of magic
Telepathic at the dawn of the Sabbath
When I write, Mount Sinai lifts up to the heavens
God passes judgement
The gathering of the brothers
My mathematics emanate lights from the mysteries of divine thought
Seven hundred new Torahs go forth
If I give them the Quran, show them the hand of beyond
From lightyears to eons
In space there’s a great mountain where all the dead climb, tryna make it to the top before the [?] tiger gouge ‘em
Beyond that, invisible castles where all the pharaohs and all the Mayans talking and dining
And Malcolm X walks in with Medgar Evers, whispers to King
Nat Turner and Harriet Tubman are seen
And Obama’s grandmother is busting, yelling at everybody, “We have our first black president!”
The heavens commence to party, acting up, standing on tables, dancing
Marcus Garvey holding up by Molly
I see the sinister smile of Haile Selassie
I begin to write more and more
My mind was sore
I can see the [?], given the [?], the [?] and the [?], the [?], the divine order
My mind’s aura
My body swims across the cosmic waters
Dividing night from the day
Calling the moon from out of the grave
We were a nation before we were slaves
Remember that