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by: Gabriel A. Hopkins
It’s time my friends
Bring down the bottles
And the squares
Move up the music
And the chairs
For it’s too late in 918
It’s time for the good times
With white boards and black lines
I see the vibes
Vehicles of very vivacious nature
And I think
It’s too late in 918
It’s in here our senses
Come alive
The blues moves the soul
And the beats bring the drives
Now baby
It’s getting late in 918
And there are the panthers
Here are the hippies
Grooving to ’em t-town cues
Fighting the good fight
Knowing fate
Has brought too late to 918
Gabriel A. Hopkins was born and raised in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Upon entering Thomas Edison Preparatory High School he joined the Louder Than A Bomb organization, becamw liberated by the literary arts movement, and soon felt the urge to develop his own inner voice and craft. Upon receiving his diploma, Gabriel left for Langston University (a historical black college) to further his vision. He now resides in Mesa, Arizona with his poodle and continues this craft to this day.