The following is a letter Ibn Dajjal wrote to various rappers from the Five Percent Nation:
I recently found an intriguing book chapter on theWhile certain Five Percenters, such as Brand Nubian's Lord Jamar (or "Lord Jammer" as reads the image on the left), turned this idea down, Ibn Dajjal's dream has now become a reality. The Wu-Tang Clan has made a comeback, and their new album has been influenced by Ibn Dajjal. The release is expected to sell millions world wide, with customers coming from all walks of life: black, white, and Bedouin. In response to the fact that critics on both sides of the Sinai attribute the recent rise in camel-by spearings to this album, the Wu-Tang Clan stated that this is just music, a form of artistic expression, and nothing more. No amount of Fatwas or censorship will ever silence the sounds of the NOI and 5% Mushrik nations. The group will continue to rise in fame, with movie deals and an offer to do the sound track for the hit TV show OZ in the future. The Freethought Mecca is proud to give you the latest Wu-Tang Clan concert review by Abu Taymiyya, our resident music critic and educator of the 85%. All we can do now is recommend that you buy your copy while supplies last.
Under the smoke and lights, as from the sandy frontier of the Bilad al-Sudan, appear the sportswear-robed Tuareg lords of the concrete desert. And at the forefront of this Almoravid fraternity appears the Mahdi of Staten Island; we know him as Method Man: bearer of a Koran written not in Arabic, but Ebonics.
And what more appropriate setting than in the halls of the rock music club, where elsewhere satanic verses mingle with the divine? A Recitation wherein any card may be wild, and time will tell whether the Angel Gibreel did truly authorize each directive.
In a cloud of radio-tower static, the electronic muezzin chants his clumsily-rhymed dawaganda over the endless sea of steel minarets, fueling the fanaticism brewing within the monastery-fortresses of the South Bronx frontier. The circumambulating mujahidiin shout in ecstatic rage, raising their voices in the historicidal overthrow of Yazdegird III. Or perhaps it’s now the Rule Book’s turn to step down: As the Curtain draws back from the stage, I see that a lovely fifty percent of this crowd have dispensed with al-hijaab... and then some. And the Kaaba, true to its name, is now a music box that plays Ice Cube.
Their latest album, "al-Qur’aan al-Kariim Freestyle", emerged from the
Hijazi wastelands to a long-awaited critical acclaim; and I too breathe
a sigh of relief: after twelve centuries this “poetry” has finally gotten
the “Parental Advisory – Explicit Lyrics” label it deserves. As the
new freestyle rhymes reach the record shelf, how are we to interpret their
influence upon the adolescent Hijirenes? Are these a Pushtun tribal
code, Wahhabi war tract, or none of the above?
Transfixed am I by the unitary focus facilitated by a message however innocuous. For before the flawed rhymes Blacks, whites, Macro-Malaccans, Aztec descendants, and the multi-hued distillates of so many ancient migrations and delicious miscegenations. For just as all nations of the world came together as one under the unlikely banner of Mahound, so does this panorama of humankind sway before the darkened speakers, much as multihued pilgrims did rotate for different reasons around the ancient Black Stone.
The performance ends, and as I exit the door, I shed a faked tear as the seventy-two-odd dark-eyed houris vanish forever into the concrete gardens of this gangsta’s paradise. Too bad, some of us just gotta make do with the one shot we have. But as I bike home through the shadows of evening, I reflect that on the night of that miraculous celestial journey, I was nearest to all the urban ghazi world’s spectacle.