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Dear Sirs (El-P)

Dear Sirs If the pavement comes alive on Flatbush Ave with toothy smiles Comprised of traffic cones and manholes become eyes And birds burst into flames while singing Satan's praises And fold into the sky and rain down ashy danger If every office empties and all slaves walk in dazes To a pool of liquid money where they bathe blissfully naked And drugs no longer taunt me and flooze around my conscience And every woman beating rapist is securely in their coffins If every open hydrant in a Brooklyn time summer moment Is opened up by cops and folds out into an ocean And rent is paid by bread literally and parking isn't paid for And food stamps can be planted and childhoods can't be damaged If fire could power space ships that safely ship the creators Of dynamite and gun powder to the graves of all who faced it And the slurping nerf of bureaucrat life and bean counting slave owners Is twisted in on itself 'til they shave off their own faces If all the coke and crack in the nation is collected in a top hat And force fed to the children of every CIA agent And dust heads get an angel and an acres worth of rainbow And the projects turn to clouds and the stupid aren't so proud And the snivelling grimace mongrels of infected money Slobbing pesticrats ignite into a brilliant beam of light And mercy is the rule and the exception's mercy too And the desert comes in Brooklyn and the president goes to school Time flows in reverse, death becomes my birth Me fighting in your war is still, by a large margin The least likely thing that will ever f**king happen, ever