Queer's Deconstruction

by Big Bruiser Dope Boy

after Black Thought of The Roots

I grab the mic and make the crowd say “get off stage faggot”
in stride, I'm undeniable, I'm all the rage faggot
a pale sage faggot, they played stale gadgets
in an exhibition, primpin’ for a male pageant
I embrace frail faggots, swillin’ ale faggots
still-in-jail faggots on a box-spring mattress
clinically insane faggots, who twist the vein ratchet
givin’ head in a waterbed or on a plane faggot
I'm such a lame faggot, I'm so ashamed faggot
I'm Freud's boy-toy, I'm an aberration faggot
no, I'm dynamic, yeah, I'm always changin’ faggot
not a kitchen television simple ready-made graphic
that's Will & Grace  faggots, aim your brains past it
come unnamed, I'll put it simple and plain faggots
turn the page faggot, your soul ain't plastic
blow it out the faggot frame, fuck a corporate game faggot
I can see that you're in pain, but don't be afraid faggot
don't just behave passive, get up out the shade faggot
and if you can, then grab the reins and have a little faith faggot
don't just remain tragic, you don't have to be the same faggot
this a new day bright like a blade hatchet es-
cape from a straight-jacket let ‘em play catch-up
high salary or minimum wage brackets
when you die that’s all you're gonna get paid faggot
check it out, here's a new way to “gay bash” it
hear the siren it's an incomin’ air raid faggots
I know it seems amazin’, but I swear it ain't magic
everybody's strange, there's no one in the world to blame faggot
I am such a crazed faggot
no, I don't need your praise faggot, take back what you gave faggot
image cataclysm of an arcade labyrinth
watch my back turn away: can you hear the rain laughin’?
I'm passionate yet have nothin’ to lose or gain at this
I am not a tame faggot, hope you're entertained faggot
I give a military captain a lap-dance
make him crap his pants in a tantric panic
O yes I'm howlin’ at the moon you better get a good gander
eat your fruit and vegetables, serve you like spoon handle
you eat fish for the crude acid, I'm a harpoon addict
boom for real, I'm not a cartoon faggot
ancient statesman, but not Pericles
the basement’s where I yawp barbarically
I’m gettin’ pecked by this rock-hard parrot beak
come through smellin’ like stockyard kerosene
. . . yeah, I’m a pungent fag
in the corner suckin’ hand-rolled London fags
come through wearin’ nothin’ but dungeon rags
just to incite a riot like thunder stabs
please, I hope you can understand
that I’ve seen more shit than a plumber’s hand
here come a voice from another land
to just hit your head like your mother’s pan

Big Bruiser Dope Boy is a faggot.

Artwork: "DJ Dog" by Keith Haring