Spittin That He Can Pass A Polygraph - Jay Electronica Interview

I stood there for nineteen and a half minutes.

Watched. Waited.

I stood there while the mass of people grew larger around him. Person after person walked up to him with well wishes and digital cameras and tokens for this night’s God Emcee.

There was the old colleague who returned the furry Russian Trapper hat that he left in the studio. There was Chris and his boy who both wanted pictures and were nervous enough while asking that they accidentally turned the camera off during the second shot. There was the long-haired Greek looking model-slash-actress-slash-probably-a-waitress chick that boxed me out of the way, praying to build with the God.

There were 5-Percenters praising (his track) “Annakin’s Prayer”. There were young cats. There were old heads. There were women. There was everyone. All for an Underground rapper from New Orleans with little more than a couple mixtapes and a couple singles. All for Mr. “He Can Pass A Polygraph.”

All for Jay Electronica.

Fuck That. Jay ElectHanukkah.

Through all this, as the masses verged on mayhem, Jay remained humble. Gracious even. Taking every picture. Building with every fan.

When more fans encircled, he remained gracious. When Mighty Mos Def (who rarely does interviews or pictures) tried pulling him away to an after hours spot, he graciously stayed with his fans.

And when those nineteen and a half minutes were up, when The Company Man finally grabbed his attention long enough to ask these four questions, he graciously answered each one.

READ THE FULL INTERVIEW @ BROOKLYNBODEGA.COM (CLICK HERE)

MIND BODY & SOUL...

Phife Dawg. Ghostface. Talib Kweli. Consequence.

And for a noble cause?

Not enough?...Jay ElecHannukah will be there as well. Asking for anything more is straight Bernie Madoff (greedy).



They call me Jay Electronica
Fuck that, call me Jay ElecHannukah
Jay ElecYarmulke
Jay ElectRamadaan
Muhammad Asalaamica Rasoul Allah Supana Watallah through your monitor
My uzi still weigh a ton, check the barometer
I’m hotter then the mothafuckin sun, check the thermometer
I’m bringing ancient mathematics back to modern man
My momma told me “never throw a stone and hide your hand”
I got a lot of family, you got a lot of fans
Thats why the people got my back like the Verizon man
I play the back and fade to black and then devise a plan
Out in London, smoking, vibin while I ride the tram
Givin’ out that raw food to lions disguised as lambs,
And, by the time they get they seats hot,
And deploy all they henchmen to come at me from the treetops,
I’m chillin out at Tweetstock,
Building by the millions,
My light is brilliant.