100 Feet Tall
    (专辑: Integrated Tech Solutions - 2023)
    
    One time I 
met Mr. T 
in New York in the 
80s  I 
was 7/8-ish, waiting for a 
table at Carnegie  With my family who did not always agree on what was wavy  But would shut up once a 
week because we loved our fucking A-Team  Pops seen him sitting there, beard and Mandinka hair  Whispered so that we could hear, "Guys, Mr. T 
is here."  Mr. T 
is fucking real? I 
mean I 
know he's real  It's just we only seen him on TV, he's like a 
superhero to us  We were trying to catch a 
glimpse, my mama said "Don't make a 
scene  He probably having lunch with friends, I 
think they 'bout to pay and leave."  I'd never seen a 
famous person let alone Baracus  He 'bout to walk right by us, that's more than I 
could process  I 
felt a 
mighty presence entering my elbow room  Looked up and seen the 
rings, each it's own yellow moon  I 
seen enough gold to break the 
average neck in two  Feather hanging from the 
ear, gear that say don't mess with you   No fools, no suckers...  Be good to your mother...  No dummies, no punks...  I 
pity every last one  One, one, one...   Mr. T's a 
hundred-feet tall,  Arms like trucks, probably punch through a 
wall  My father said his name and sorta nodded to acknowledge him  Which would in turn confirm that this was not some type of hologram  Big, warm smile earring to earring  From a 
television tuffy to endearing it's eerie  Started rubbing his belly, then a 
quip for the 
pups  "It take a 
place like this to fill Mr. T 
up"  Get it? For those of you who don't know the 
establishment  They're famous in Manhattan for serving gigantic sandwiches  We shared a 
laugh about the 
portions  A 
humanizing peak behind the 
on-screen performances  He kept it brief, said his piece and with that  Disappeared in a 
cloud, mystique obscenely in tact  He played it perfect to a 
nervous kid he met at his peak  We spent the 
meal like "Holy Moses! We just met Mr. T!"   No fools, no suckers...  Be good to your mother...  No dummies, no punks...  I 
pity every last one  One, one, one...   Close to 40 years have passed, my hair is gray  My belly's fat, still when I 
hear his voice I'm 7/8-ish back on 7th ave  Now with a 
perspective that I 
never had  Respect for who he's been and is, and questions I 
won't get to ask  About this one Chicago boy, the 
youngest of a 
dozen  Who was drawn to throwing suckers out the 
club for bringing drugs in  Then scouted by Stallone who sends the 
Rocky part  He bodies it, on Letterman he says he primarily still a 
bodyguard  Huh, born protector, icon or community  Plus network television like a 
rocket to the 
moon of cheese  Pro Wrestling, cartoon, comic books, records  Break to beat cancer, then he back to spread the 
message  Look, never talk to strangers  Stay in school, don't hang out where the 
yay is  Love yourself, and fuck designer labels  Thank him for the 
guidance  Thank him for the 
cereal, seriously it was righteous   No fools, no suckers...  Be good to your mother...  No dummies, no punks...  I 
pity every last one  One, one, one...