| Ezekiel Rawlings
|
| Devil inna Blue calling
|
| Segregate, colored only
|
| Call on Mouse if you have a problem
|
| And now yo ass really drowning
|
| Pimping ain’t ease it’s a mountain
|
| Dealing with anything Half-Back
|
| Enter thru the Back, Bull Conner
|
| Take it to the Head, Selma
|
| Place Dynamite, No Thelma
|
| Just four little girls, dawn at a church
|
| Spike had to fuckin' tell yah?
|
| But a Panther only gets Blacker
|
| And the Night plays a factor
|
| It swallows all the white wrongs
|
| And the Meek kills the Master
|
| So the reckonings a’coming
|
| Word to the ghost, Bobby Hutton
|
| So stand strong, Juan Carlos
|
| Or you free fall for nothing
|
| Pardon, We could take it back Dogon
|
| So gather all of yah photons, for the phone con, and so on
|
| Tough to kill like LoGone
|
| Power to the P. Malcolm
|
| Boogie Down like the South Bronx with a Falcon
|
| On my gun arm!
|
| Would you send your kids
|
| To our kids' school?
|
| Is Trump about to win
|
| This stage of fools?
|
| Do Black Lives really matter
|
| Or do they don’t?
|
| Dirty blood, curly hair
|
| Like my President
|
| Is it true East New York’s
|
| Coming up and hot?
|
| Can you touch my Afro? |
| (Ha!)
|
| You may not
|
| Polluting my Earth, my food
|
| Mind and more
|
| Healing foremother’s wounds
|
| Your forefather’s whores
|
| Waltz with the invisible man
|
| The elephant in the room
|
| I need me a sensible plan
|
| They trynna sentence me to doom
|
| If it had not been for the lord
|
| I woulda had a not a now nada
|
| Nat Turner on a quiet night
|
| From the back burner or the pilot light
|
| Cause of one drop of this Black blood
|
| You know the hood different now
|
| Seen White girls coming out the chicken spot lookin thick
|
| Or was it one drop of this Black nut?
|
| That got them open season on my progeny
|
| For the fear White ovaries might meet
|
| The Nightmares of an overseer or a housewife of an officer
|
| They like «Why you go there so often?»
|
| «Pardon, can’t cloak this awful truth
|
| Dispute even our ocean’s haunted»
|
| So to call me going overboard
|
| Thats old news sung from my sad song
|
| Tongues at the bottom these deep blues
|
| And the cotton in my denim bleeds too
|
| My pain regressive your strain recessive
|
| I’m just trynna be, I’m just minding me
|
| I ain’t trynna be rude
|
| Waltz with the Invisible Man… (x10) |