Scene 1: Oakland, California

Now listen:
this is the truth.
The same people who build prisons
build high schools.

Somethin’ bout how the clouds move out in Oakland.
Somethin’ bout a pale sky next to the ocean.

Man, I’m not jokin’. Hey, I’m not kiddin’.
The school that I visited was built like San Quentin.

Listen, how can you ask these kids to dream
inside a building built like a penitentiary?

Look at the little homies rappin’ bars
at the lunch table, talkin’ bout them flashy cars
cuz they grew up in the projects,
and that main stream hip hop be fuckin’ with they conscience.
All the flashy glits tell the ghetto kids they ain’t got shit,
so they die tryin’ to get so rich.
The images they get: the whips and Bloods and Crips
and Wayne make it rain.
Everybody runnin’ for a buck
trying to escape the pain,
and the people in the muck get tossed away, hey.

(Chorus)

If I could, man, I’d teach em’ how to cypher,
teach em’ how to cypher, teach em’ how to cypher, hey.

If I could, man, I’d teach em’ how to cypher,
teach em’ how to cypher, teach em’ how to cypher, hey, hey, hey.

Scene 2: LUNA

Bienvenidos a La Finiquera.
Class is in session. Check the method.
We cypher in the sunlight.

LUNA steps to the mic. She says,

“Watch me summarize my life as I count to five.

One. I was SIX when my father took his own life.

Two. I used those SEVEN dollars he gave me back in the day
to buy balloons and place them on his grave after school.

Three. It was grade EIGHT when I sold my first little bit of cocaine, hey.

Four. I hate locked doors. By age NINE I survived the hands of a strange man NINE times while my mother went blind with a bottle. I forgot how ta. . . cry.

Five. By age TEN I lit the candle
for La Virgen en mi Mama’s casita.
My Mommy tried to teach me to be a good little hija.

I was taught to hold lipstick, that my purpose was to find a man
while my Momma got her lip split
by a man with lip stick on the back of his bloody hand.


I’m at the bus stop tryin’ to catch a ride:
stupid motherfucker yellin’ at me that I got
fat titties and a nice behind,
and they tell me ‘don’t be angry
naw, just act like a lady,
keep quiet, clean house, make babies,
so when I speak they expect me to be fuckin’ crazy.’

No matter what they say, I’ma find my way.
No matter what they do, I’ma sing my blues.
With these two hands
I’ma make the world beautiful.”

(“beautiful” repeats)


Scene 3: LITTLE MIKE

Bienvenidos a La Finiquera. Class is in session.
Check the method. We cypher in the sunlight.

LITTLE MIKE got a daddy done time,
skipped last class to sell a dime.

LUNA says, “Come on, LITTLE MIKE, give it a try.
Just spit that shit.”

So he spit that shit. He say,

“Sometimes I wanna say ‘fuck the world’ cuz I don’t understand it
enough.
I guess I would be lying it I told you I was out a touch.

I done touched the weight of a 9mm.
Seen my mother’s life pass in front of my eyes.
The cancer got her when I was like five.
Been angry at God for like my whole life.”

“Now LUNA
I heard the poem you read the other day after school.
Made me wonder why I treat women the way that I do.

“I was raised by my uncle and this drunk fool
told me, ‘Never let a smart girl love you.
Never allow yourself to love one of them.
Men and women ain’t friends.
Bitches were born to be bitches, and bitches destroy good men.’

“I know that word offends.
I mean no disrespect,
but all this shit is stuck in my head.
Many nights before bed I prayed for my life and pain to end.

“I guess it’s fucked up
how we love our mothers but hate our baby mothers
and sisters and wonder what’s wrong with the world we livin’ in.
Thinkin’ bout my momma make me feel like
she lookin’ down on me again.
Lord take away my sins.”

“No matter what they say, I’ma find my way.
No matter what they do, I’ma sing my blues.
With these two hands,
I’ma make the world beautiful.”

(chorus repeats)


END.

Yogi Freestyle Interlude
[Yolanda]
My name is Yolanda.
Got Chucks on my feet.
Gilbert’s bed is my seat.
Lookin’ at Def Poets society.
My rap is tight. I got variety.
Lookin’ at Mr. Bush holdin’ that camera.
Heat like magician, abracadabra.
Lookin’ at Myrlin
hit that beat box.
Look at him.
Look at him.
Look at them dirty ass socks!