black herman’s last asrah levitation at magic city, Atlanta 2010

This exclusive shit I don’t share with the world. 50 Cent I, Herman, made medicinal — concocted potions in ways my former’s was hearsay; Turned palomas christened Zora on to formulas husbands roll over n mitzvah. I, a black lad, proud Virginian, selling out Liberty Hall n pinched w/ stickpins in Woodlawn, do bequeath my next-to-last oratory: My roots subverted the man, honeys n dog voyagers to Neptune, who dared interfere w/ your melodious saccharine midsection. My cluster of tricks made chaps seek out connotation. Look at my magic stick. Not my clavicles, but my magic stick. Ain’t no lightness of hand but of bounce player. Constraints imposed by a corvid named Jim could not interpret my remedies. Jim wasn’t much of a MacGyver: not one skill in therapeutic thaumaturgy. He prescribed cowlicks for the heartsick: I mean, really.