Chain Music

Chain so big I c’aint pop my collar,

wouldn’t dare to sell yourself short,

but you’d sell you soul for a dollar.


Its all good tho, cause when they see you,

you gone have a chain so big you c’aint pop yo collar.


However, You see diamonds and I see blood.

You see chains, and I see rope,

so if you can’t hang with the message within the words,

you might want to cut loose, while your ahead.


You see grills, and I see a jaw wired shut,

another American idle, idle of a voice…


See the weight of that chain is not only allowing you to display your foolishness,

but it is weighing you down from what you’ve been destined to be..





They’ve stripped us of all crowns, culture, and language.


Our ancestors have lived with the chains around their neck, wrists, and ankles

for hundreds of years, and sat in a lifetime full of tears,

just for them rust and break free.

Striving to regain our Royalty, but you refuse to be Loyal.


While you see Whips and Chains,

I’m only seeing Whips and Chains,


While I record our Mother’s cries of help, replaying them in my mind,

memorizing every note, reminding myself that this is the fuel to the ambition in my Soul.


You rerecord these songs, and reiterate to the world that your ignorant.


Think Free.


They gather you in groups, and now you’ve become the groupie.

They have that chain around your neck so tight, your unable to pop your collar,

As your trying to signify your dominance, your spiritually dying.

Yet you have fallen like a Domino, according to the set-up.


Chain so big you cant pop your collar.

Now the shades have come off, you’ve turned to me

Looking me in the eye, as they glorify the illumination of the hatred for your brethren.

Upset at me, because I’m free from the chains.


You’ll never be free from behind those bars, until you stop investing in cribs.

You’ll never be rid the scars, if you keep investing in whips.

You keep bragging bout your chain being so big, you c’aint pop your collar,

but you’ll always be at their finger tips…



For My Brothers, For My Family

Hollow tips enter full bodies, and empty them.

As the bullet rips the flesh, it’s also stripping the body from the soul.

The victim has passed; not only in presence, but through papers as another statistic.

The consequences of a coward,

we have to live with, walk these very same streets.

His mind has been brainwashed. They’ve purposely left out all the coloreds.

Holding the steal he feels like Iron-man, but without it he is weak.

Pulling that trigger is as easy as taking candy from a baby, but

does this coward know he just took this baby away from his mom.

My ego is fierce with poise full of culture.

I am tired of living through the peephole fighting not to be another victim of hatred.

I am tired of stray bullets finding a home within our own children.

Bullets may not have names on them, but they take innocence of the ones they enter.

I am tired of looking over my shoulder, because I have a permanent crook in my neck to go along with the knifes in my back.

Eyes follow me down the street.

Am I a crook because Im wearing my hood on my head? –Its cold

Am I a crook because I’m carrying candy? — I have a little sibling at home.

am I a crook because I’m holding a drink? — I am thirsty?


Am I a crook because of the color of my skin?

The difference is they wear hoods that  cover their heads.

You can still see their color, but  that they may hide their faces in consciousness of shame.

Lacking Color

A Color?

A “Color” everyone can see past except for them, because they still got that damn sheet over their heads.

I had a dream last night.

I marched to the most immense Bell with my hoodie on, and Granted justice for all Kings, Queens, & Martins.

I was tackled to the ground and handcuffed.

I would be easier to handle.

I didnt just get married, I am not a child (though someones), nor do I have one.

Everyone took a shot, but we’re taking the bullets for their

“Self Defense”.

Tell me — Do they call it self defense because we are strong, and will not helplessly tolerate oppression?

Before you pull the trigger; do you even second guess it?

Is there  really so much hate that you become absent-minded?

Because of their loathing lack of souls,

Everyday I am reminded of the death of My Brothers.

Hughes, Dunbar, Walker, Angelou, Giovanni, Baldwin, Brooks, El-Shabazz, Shakur

They came to me and requested I speak for the people.

They sat me down, I listened, and though they only spoke to me in poetry I gained an inner-standing of each and every stanza they’ve written.

Having me stand tall with my head up.

They woke me up in my dream, God woke me up this morning, but I came alive in this poem.

Oscar Grant, I stand strong for my brother.

Sean Bell, I stand strong for my brother.

Trayvon Martin, I stand strong for my brother.

 I Stand Strong for My Family.

I hope they hear my prayers while comforting each other, realizing they are not alone.

How long will it take for their families to heal?…

Until they’re all called home?

Murder is theft, and if these killer aren’t convicted of one, how about the other?


Instead of pouring this libation on the floor out of respect,

I’ll drink it because they didnt have the chance to.

Better, I will share the candy with our family; who didn’t have a chance to see them come home.

Unable tell them once last time they loved them.




Beaten though Kings & Queens, and still



 – I AM Vigilant Leighrick, Poetic Renegade