{CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, I LOVE YOU}

{CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, I LOVE YOU} 
THE MUSIC... A CLASSIC AND ITS DEDICATED TO YOU...
http://youtu.be/dgObI6h8DwE

I love you empress thats why I try to get you to see that love and sex are one...
That I need you.
I want you too feel where I'm coming from...
I am going to try to make sure you do.
Spank dat ass as you dangle wrapped round my meat.
Reach around those nipples and squeeze... pull you moaning back onto my pole... Bite you in yo back.
This need so great in the hormones of a beast...
Want to make you mine... Tell you I love you as I am melted into your molten core...
Born again in the heat of your oven... Rock hard in your kiln.
I pulling your hair and playing in yo roots... your juice... Your juice.
Nowhere I would rather be than turning you around and looking in your eyes...
Licking at your supine form as it becomes the basis for my being... The reason that I survive...
One second eloquent, the other just plain fucking nasty... I and the beast as one.
Call my name... call my motherfucking name as I suck at thy lips... As I hum on your swollen clit.
Squeeze my head with your thighs and try to get away... such a hard decision to make as I hold you tight... 
Got to hear you cum for it is as energy to me...
Push your legs back and rub at your lips... Slap my head on your clit... slide in slowly as to savor every second... relish every moment.
Fuck you till the sun comes up... Dont want you to go...
Let me tell you that I love you...
Let me show you what you make me wanna do...
You have such a mesmerizing effect...
Let me hit it from the back.... I wanna make you holla.
Please dont go.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{IS THAT A WEAVE?} TO HOT TO REVEAL IN FULL ON FACEBOOK

{IS THAT A WEAVE?} TO HOT TO REVEAL IN FULL ON FACEBOOK
THE MUSIC... YOU GOT TO LISTEN... IT ALL GOES TOGETHER...
http://youtu.be/Z7-PdQ9awKg

I love it when you leave it furry for me... cause I got a severe thing for your hair.

I loving the way it feels when I rub my hands through it...

When it is moist and saturated with your dew.

See I get fucked up in yo nappy...

I get lost in the spirals of your fro...

Both of them and I splash into your layers...

I dazed by your grown woman peeking at me from under cover...

I touch it with my fingers, take them away and inhale...

Ahhhhhh...

Your grown woman and I want to kiss her...

Tease her as she draped in fur looks so sophisticated and mature...

Love her in all her shades, from black to grey...

Can your grown woman come out and play?

She pooked up at me as I pull her back and touch her lips with my finger...

The head of my dick... 

Spank her on erect clit...

Push all the way in...

So much pressure exerted that you sink to dampened sheets...

I beat...

If it was milk it would churn into butter...

If it was cream it would be whipped...

I stirring in the makings of you...

Mixing in the diversity of your ingredients...

Playing in your roots...

See baby...

I want to play in your hair.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{MORE FOR ME}

{MORE FOR ME} DEDICATED TO THE PHATNESS
TO HOT FOR THOSE HATERS

IF YOU MISS THE MUSIC YOU MISS THE WHOLE POINT

http://youtu.be/HCZZS1qbGB8

To think that they would pass you by because of your thickness... 

That fucks my essentials up...

That they would miss your juicy because of distorted notions of you perpetrated in magazines and on the stupid tube.

The lines etched into your skin by time hint at who the what we are.

I touch them, lick them and long to hear your sighs.

Phenomenal art thou...

I poised to fall as leaf upon you...

I standing as tree longing to enter you...

I existing as cum want to spray upon you...

To beat into the deepest level of your pinknicity...

Fall all the way to the back...

Paint graffiti on you walls...

Mark my territory...

So hard to remain civilised when you stroke me primally...

When you drop heavy beneath your butt cheeks...

When you turn around on hands and knees and present it to me...

It hanging plump and sweet.

When you throw your legs all the way back and I fell your womb call to me...

My head straining against its skin...

Purple and engorged...

Veins along my dick twisting like roots...

Only a fool would pass all this up.

The phat and creamy of you in dark chocolate, In mocha tones, With hint of vanilla.

Well...

That just leaves more for me...

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(FEED ME)

(FEED ME) THE WORD WAS EDACITY AND IT WAS SUGGESTED BY Chelle Belle
THE MUSIC FOR THIS ONE... IT'S LIKE WHOA!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhlxxVzF508&feature=youtube_gdata_player 

Today we will address this hunger... This overwhelming need I have to taste of you.
To lick at your squishy liquid core.
I in my voraciousness devouring you mercilessly.
I must eat of thee.
A glancing dart of my tongue on your exposed clitoris.
The smell of your sex so driving in my pheromonals.
It pounding at my animalistic... Come forth... Cum forth.
The beast butt naked and exposed seeks your orgasmic threshold.
Lapping away at your glistening nectar.
Drunk on your tasty elixir as you squirm and moan.
Eliciting sweat upon thy brow.
I partake of thee.
I rooted in my edacity.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{ I NAT TURNER SAW A RED SKY }

{ I NAT TURNER SAW A RED SKY }
THE MUSIC...
http://youtu.be/zsC2bHWmsJM

I try to get you to overstand the magnitude of my words...
The pressure... The gravity.
I will die for these things that I love...
My family... My ancestory,  the future generations of my seed...
I already on the battlefield will turn to fire... To pain and agony.
I born warrior of Allah will fight mentally and physically to slay the beast...
He who has become the keeper of the machine... It pumping out lies and psychic disease.
He keeping it oiled and pristine.
I will die for these things if it means that one of my progeny will stand a chance in a later time.
If he retains one shred of what I his great, great, great grandfather said.
My tombstone covered in weeds and debris.
My words in a library where he sits among the shelves breathing of my breath. 
Speaking my words on the road to standing erect.
Third eye vision as compared to tell-lie-vision... 
I try to get you yo overstand that I don't just write these words for me...
I write them for the gangbanger, the pimp, the pusher and the hoe.
The exploited and the besieged living in a concrete jungle where the predator comes to play.
Where he gleams his slaves from... some working in the big house as big house niggas and others as the unseen.
Gotta give em alcohol and drugs or they would see the awful truth... Pour one out on the ground for that as the blue and white cruises by.
Crackers driving whips.
I try to get you to overstand the fact that to me riot is just a state of mind.
I will die for mine.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{AND EYE REMEMBERS}

AND EYE REMEMBERS}
THE FUNKY BEAT FOR THE FUNKY TRUTH...
http://youtu.be/bepsKUEALlE

Remember when I was a cell in an ancient ancestor as he contemplated the future...
Remember when you were African and the whole planet recognized you as such... There was no Chinese man, no European, no Indian.
Pacific or Atlantic see?
I once suspended in the helix as it spun off new fruit.
Once when we new ruled over Egypt and the known and unknown worlds...
Children formed of the sun and we knew that we were formed of sons formed of the sun see?.
We became Zulu... We became Ashanti... We became the Semite and the white man.
We forgot these things over time for we were a spiritual people... not easily moved by doctrine.
We grew and spread and conquered new lands... we powerful were the threat.
We carried the ability to eradicate all other races in our loins... Our seed and fruit so vibrantly alive.
Remember when we looked at the water and saw him emerge from the fog... Our son so pale see?
We welcomed him and taught him knowledge which he took back to Greece and Rome and called it his own.
He called us primitives and savages and stole our riches as he waged war... Physical and mental.
Shaka knew of his coming... See?
Cannons booming as proof of us was turned into dust... As great halls of learning burned and ships carried away our story to the Vatican and the Bastille... Great caravans spoken of in secret chambers.
Our lives were now changed... Musa and Ibrahim were made white men... Even their names were rearranged.
They came in peace while annihilating whole tribes.
They carried a cross and hung men from it see?
Made the white Jesus god and the pig meat good.
Remember when they took you young one and cast you into the belly of the beast... took your manhood and savagely your virginity.
Blood stains on wooden boards on the way to being delivered.
I in the structure of a melanated man working in the hot sun from whence my ancestors came...
I with no recollection of being free... See?
I remember when I became Nigger, Negro, Afro Amerikkkan, Black and finally African hyphenated Amerikkkan, yet still a nigger see?
 I remember all these things on a hereditary level...
Eye-stinc-tually.
Remember when they spoke of me around a fire in Africa...
See?

(THE LONESOME STRANGERS BIRTH) PART ONE

(THE LONESOME STRANGERS BIRTH)
THE SOUNDTRACK FOR THIS PART OF OUR TALE…
http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL24cV6IIynrbRVH_DrGN19SZA0ImI9mn3

He awakens to find himself lying in a field of flowers.
 One of them is right in front of his eyes and he watches the ant that walks on the stem… sees his antennae move.
 He pushes himself up and looks around and sees the bodies that dot the ground around him. They lie motionless and the air is quiet. He stands and wobbles a little bit and he puts his hand to the aching on his head and it comes away bloody.
 He starts to walk and he sees a familiar pattern. He hurries to it and drops to his knees as he turns the form over and sees the smaller form under it.
 He cradles her head and looks to the sky as he implores of his god. The sun blazes but to him it is as cold as winter. His heart pumps chilled blood. 
He picks up the small lump and turns it over and his sons face is dirty and he brushes the dirt away and cradles his face in the babies neck to smell him. That is when the small child stirs. His eyes open and he smiles at the face of his father. The man is elated and his tears streak his face and that of the child. He looks around and sees the overturned wagon and he walks to it and grabs a shovel and ties his child to his back like he has seen his woman do time and time again.
 He begins to dig and the sun traverses the sky as he digs deeper and deeper. He finishes and he carries her to the grave and he gets in first and gently he lies her in place. He climbs out and he brings his son to see his mother one last time. The baby cries and reaches out his hand but his father tells him to stop crying. There is no time for that. He covers her with dirt and turns and grabs a few things from the wagon. He uses sheets and blankets to make a tent and he climbs in and goes to sleep with the baby beside him.
 The next morning he starts to walk back the way he came and he gives the baby water but the baby soon starts to cry he needs milk. When he has walked for about 7 hours he sees the town that they passed yesterday and he enters it and makes his way to the saloon where he saw the black woman yesterday.
 He walks in and it is empty except for the man who owns the place and her. The man looks at him and he runs from behind the counter. “What do you want boy?” He asks as he looks around frantically. “I want to speak to her.” The man says as he slings his son from his back to his front. The black woman comes over and says “What do you want with me?” “Ma’am my wife was killed and my son needs milk. Do you know anyone who can help me?” The woman looks at him and she tells the white man to go and get the sheriff. He leaves and she pulls open her blouse and takes out her breast and it is full.
 There is no time for him to question this because the doors swing open and the sheriff bursts in. He walks to where they are and when his books stop all that seems to be heard is the suckling of the hungry baby. He listens as the man tells his story. About how the people who he was going west with were all killed. He tells of the white men who robbed them and the white man seems concerned.
 If they would rob niggers they would rob white folks. He asks the barman to find him somewhere to stay and the woman speaks up. He can stay with me. The two white men look at each other and there is something unsaid between them.
 The dazed man walks with her to her house and she pumps water from the well and he takes off his clothes behind the hanging sheet and sits down in the water as his son sleeps on the other side of the makeshift curtain. The woman is cooking and as smells begin to fill the small house she tells him her tale. How she was headed west when her husband died suddenly and she was just married and pregnant.
 She told him how she had had the baby and how it had gotten the fever and died just 5 months ago. She worked at the saloon cleaning the bar and the rooms. When the man eats he is sleepy and she makes him a pallet on the floor and he falls asleep she sits in the chair as she watches him. He thrashes in his sleep and she climbs under the covers with him and he sleeps soundly for the rest of the night.
 The next morning he wakes and sees her beside him and he gets up and picks up his son and walks out on the porch and he sits in the rocking chair and rocks as he starts to think. Soon she awakes and walks out on the porch and takes the baby from his arms and feed him. She finishes and asks him “Will you be here when I get back. He nods his head yes and she leaves after cooking breakfast.
When she returns later to feed the baby he is still there.

IF YOU WANT THIS ONE FINISHED JUST LET ME KNOW…

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY