There is a conscious counterculture kickin’ in the Capital
Back east in DC, the community’s rockin,
Non-stoppin’, the underground family’s poppin’
bee-boppin’ to the rhythm of a go-go beat

Kickin’ music and revolution out in the street
Rhythm Workers bangin’ out a beat in time
Guerilla poets wagin’ a lyrical struggle in rhyme
Belmontia risin, Batala boomin

DC51 son! We be swoonin’
Enraptured by individual visions
Minds uncaptured by institutional incisions
Every single soul human nuclear fission

My man C-Max produces artwork in stacks
Original paintings, graphic design
Direct action organizer most of the time
A funky fresh handsome fly Argentine
He rocks a new school mullet and feels just fine

Little Moo is my brother from another mother
A little belly tickling always makes him shudder
When it’s time for an escapade, he’s done for another
Renaissance man, socialite, Brasiliera lover

Little LSB is our pet love bug
she’s always spotted hefting a massive-sized mug
Giving out to everyone the most amazing hugs
Of all things I’ve encountered an excellent judge

And then Mooper Cheekrabubblereggaenameen
Met each other the first time in a dreamy scene
Used to do her best to destroy her spleen
But always willing to switch to Al Green

Sweet-T was once a mousy computer guy
Always cooked a mean meal, but learned how to fly
After picking up the mic and telling “the Man” to die
Photographer extraordinaire with a morning high

Special K knows the way to make the beat go boom
Let her into any space, and she’ll conquer the room
She’ll croon, dance a jig and then, real soon,
You can watch every brother (and half the sisters) start to swoon

Little Vishy has cheeks I’d call squishy
He drops funky beats on both decks and drums
W always have fun, kicked it in the sun
On extended trips, we touch each other’s bums

Daddy Fadi is the warmest clown you’ll ever find
if we monkeys are juice in fruit, this man’s the rind
ready at the drop of a hat with some kind
standing ever ready to get you out of a bind

My doppleganger Hawah does a lot of yoga
Way too healthy to ever drink soda
You gotta get a load o’ the way this man stands
With him walking the world, it’s like we’ve each four hands

Back in the day, Mama Laila fed us all
An inundation of inspiration, an energy ball
End up at her place after playing the National Mall
Now she takes care of our snack, Amal

Sweet little Yummers has the brightest smile
Nobody can step to her on the dance floor, child
We spent some time, kicked it for awhile
For her company, I’d walk every mile of the Nile