The Final Cup

The bartenders yell the last call at the mass bar
The final cup, line ‘em up
They ordered wine and alcohol
Glasses are empty
Pineapple slush, limes are crushed
Their couples drunk, they tip a buck
He slammed down fifty, saying she threw two quarters
Said, “I hope this is enough”
I’m in the cut, they stumbling
He spilled his drink all over my tux
“Sorry, my good man”
Damn, this sucks
“We having an afterparty, it’s in our suite, floor 83, the Deluxe
We have liquor, drugs, a whole lot of stuff
You can wait an hour or come with us
There’ll be girls and gambling in there so no rush”
As he headed to the elevator, “don’t be a hesitater, be a playa”
He strutted off with his woman on his arm and some fly alligators
Next thing you know I’m looking for their room though an hour later
I hear [?] of music, a crowd, then a voice says, “I’m about my paper, a true gangsta from the Himalayas, and that’s word to my processed hair and to my silk underwears”
I started to smile, I knocked on the door
“I got it”
The door opened up, I’m surprised, guess who I saw
It was Martin [?] as Jerome, with brother man from the fifth floor but holding up [?]
I said, “Marty-Mar, you were my favorite show”
I started to hug them as we faded off slow
To the screen, it’s pitch black
You hear the film being changed, someone coughs
Pull the tape, put it to the feeder, press playback
It’s Priest with a cup of tea and a cafe pack, smoking a pipe with blonde ice, having a day-cap
Ordered a longo, make it strong though like the Congo
On the balcony of the condo
Play the bongo, listen to Chongo
Order [?], roll like the ghetto
Two more espresso, have ‘em hype for Othello
My poetry’s caffeine, I take half cream
It gets you hype then it make you half dreams, you feel mellow
Y’all polluted hip-hop with a virus, I’m the vaccine
Call the writers
I’m apple cider, I got tabs on liars
I got a screw loose, tryna get a grip, grab them pliers
It’s my turn, screwdriver
Y’all plugs are burnt out, I’m the new supplier
Y’all not lit, y’all confused the lighter
Try and compete, my pen blow heat when I write on the fabric, use the dryer
Y’all cycles complete, you cipher with Priest
How you hop from the grease into the fire?