Kuku emerges from City Hall's jail.  Dazed, pale, and slightly wild-eyed, his aides assist him to his soapbox.  He climbs on and addresses his friends, admirers, supporters, comrades and distinguished members of this thing.  

"Friends, it is not often that I have clashed with City Hall.  Some distant relatives of mine were persecuted by someone connected with City Hall.  This was no ordinary employee of City Hall, no, this was something quite different.  But that was then and this is now.

Kuku looks upset.  Several hardened criminals week as they empathise with the great man.

"So, my friends, I would like to talk to you about what happened to me recently.  I was doing my usual thing, my daily hustle.  I don't feel that I have really had a good day without talking to some friends in my crew.  So that's what I did.  I approached them and said "I'm just doing my daily hustle!"  I thought nothing more of it, I continued on my way, making some money, and was enjoying a coffee in the coffee shops when...  When...

Kuku starts trembling - by this stage, few eyes are dry.  There is a widespread sense of a collective trauma being relived.

"Sorry, my friends, this is all very real.  Anyway, yes, I was doing my thing when a plain clothes officer, not FBN, this guy was a member of some kind of City Hall special squad, came over to me.  Being a friend to City Hall, I was blindsided when I was hit across the head.  I woke up in a dungeon in City Hall, with no recourse to a lawyer; no idea what my sentence or indeed crime was; and with no indication of when my trial might be.

I bribed warders to get words to my friends on the outside.  The support was overwhelming, and I think you all...

Several reputed mob leaders  collapse with emotional stress.

"The #FreeKuku campaign was launched, and I was inundated with messages of support.  I can't think you enough.  And, it seems, perhaps it worked, as I was freed, with no fanfare, earlier today.

I am still to have my detention officially declared.  But I have my freedom!

I hold no grudge against my assailant, kidnapper and denier of freedom.  I have his name, but I will not Tell.  Kin, he was not: he was not family, but he was known to me.  But his name, I shall not Tell.  Kind of like when you know a secret but will not Tell.  Kind of like knowing about corruption in City Hall years ago, but still, refusing to Tell.

Kinship is what makes this society go round.

That is my closing message.

#FreeKuku

I would like to dedicate this speech to  Siobhan_OMalley - someone who has been greatly affected by my work.

Yo my dude Kuku, if I went to prison i'd probably write about it too. Shit I'd probably come up with some dope new tracks to release once i got out. Or maybe i'll do a song over the prison phone because I know my fans wouldn't be able to wait for me to get out. I'd make some songs about making pizza in prison, about how we dry up some old Ramen noodles to make a dough then spread some chili and hot pickles on top. Hell yea, prison pizza is only good on the inside though, I try that shit at home afterwords and boy it don't got shit on a good Mcdouble with some fries. I think maybe i should try prison out one day i think #FreePostMalone would be super dope. I'd probably get a lot of honey's when i got home. I guess i gotta figure out some shit i can do to get caught up. Anybody wanna do some crimes so I can make a song out of it when we in prison after?

Postmalone - you'd need to do serious time to really be able to write a proper piece of prison art, I'd suggest