PARTNERS IN RHYME

Throw out a bar like it's useless,

Then bend it ninety degrees like Euclid.

Dropped clues, Easter egg revelations,

Bullets talkin' , unexpected correlations.

Out in left field looking for the connections,

Muny Marc flips the script, Crazy corrections.

Shakabaka comes next , emotions rising,

Motherland mentioned , his rhythm thriving.

Up with the people, down with the man,

Family, community, all part of his plan.

Everyone invested with internal inspections,

His life, our lives, deep personal reflections.

Somehow I got thrown in the mix,

an old Cracker from way back in the sticks.

Feels like I snuck in through the back door,

Compared to those two, what they pick me for?

To keep from sounding like a jackass braying,

I throw out some of my Grandpa's sayings.

"Taters ain't grown for their vines.

Corn ain't grown for their roots.

To find why that man is worth knowing,

You've got to first walk a mile in his boots." -Grandpa

So for comic relief of affirmative action,

I was made part of this attraction.

To represent people convicted of crimes,

I gladly stand with my partners in rhyme.

Maybe we'll write something, while in this place,

To convince you that felons are part of the human race.