This joint isn't about them but I gotta pause and dedicate this flow to Jill DelBridge, Tyrone Mobley and Candace Mumford. Without them I wouldn't have regained the flow after years away from the poetry game. Madd respect always. PEACE.
Yo, I ain't Ameri-can,
but I dig the Afri-can,
from the subways and causeways, Spell-man to Spokane,
same clan, same tan, different brand,
one North American, one Barbadian, spilled D.N.A. in the same Saha-ran sand,
canned heat, forced to compete, don't misunderstand,
if you from The Bronx way, or a free man, captured by the Magnificent Sulei-man,
you had a bomb dropped on your soul, just like the Europe-an American,
dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima in Japan,
I let the flames fan, in my adrenal gland, scan my brain pan,
check out the Ebony expanse, then expand,
from my diaphram, how and where it began,
the demonic plan, we as Africans were forced to withstand,
over a 500 year span, what does it matter if we, willingly,
submit to a brand, don't have to wear a black tam,
to know the black man and woman are undermanned,
and understaffed, don't need a poinant paragraph,
to know, this flow flies at half-mast,
bless the dearly departed, what they started,
we gotta finish
I don't write for the populace,
but in spite of demons at night, I write for justice and just this,
injustice is a food served cold by the multitudes,
the biggest, baddest brotha's ancestors were sold like crude,
oil, we are foils, in the biggest heist ever,
so I wonder, can heaven be a hospice, did the devil have an accomplice,
is there a list, containing the names of Negro-Afro-African Americans
who accomplished, what the Native's and the Irish, could not,
what is it about our melanin, or beneath the skin,
that our black bodies could defend, against European pathogens,
viruses and bacterium, small-pox, ad hoc delirium,
didn't need no serum, naturally fearsome,
and don't get me started, it's all as well hell,
I don't dog out white people, because I rely on my white blood cells,
to quell, any virus, after all the blues and country music are the same,
ask Billy Ray Cyrus, I'm just trying to dispel,
stereotypes, hyped to a massive swell,
try to excel when I expel,
withheld from finishing college, but my knowledge
is beheld, from New Amsterdam to New Rochelle,
I ain't playin, what I'm sayin,is that I never undersell,
myself, to the multitudes, to them I'm poor and black with an attitude,
to God I have wealth beyond comprehension,
for example, look how long I've kept your attention
And the hook goes a little like this...
MARK ON MY SKIN, NO CHAINS ON MY HEART,
CHAINS ON MY SOUL, DOES IT MATTER WHERE
YOU AND I DISEMBARKED,
MUST I COMPROMISE MY NEGRITUDE,
AND ATOMIZE INTO AN INDENTURED SERVITUDE,
TO SHOW AND PROVE
This joint is for the mulatto, the black gato, the blue black
and the Creole, this world can't withhold, what God give ya tenfold,
the Talented Tenth times one thousand,
talent is rousin, from a long sleep, the spectacle is deep,
this joint is for my sisters, the Katt Stacked and the beanpoles,
sportin hair you was loaned, or hair you own,
I doesn't matter, if you give love to a brother I'm flattered,
this joint is a controlled, explosion, no erosion,
though the flow is in constant motion, my devotion,
to destroying the notion, of the black Sambo,
got me on a mission, I'm a Bajan Rambo,
just leave me alone, and you're safe in your home,
but if you spyt in my soup bowl,
I gotta come at ya, how you say it Beyonce Knowles,
UT-OHH, UT-OHH, UT-OHH,
D'ee the Mandingo, batta-bing, batta-bingo,
your number is called, when I'm involved,
you can't forstall, a brotha you can't solve,
I'm an exclaimation point wrapped in the body of an e-nig-ma,
no, I'm not a Nig ma, I'm just a brilliant puzzle,
the world can't muzzle
This last verse, ain't about the dally, in the fallacy,
of going worst to first,
no, it's all about the first to inhabit the planet earth,
finally exorcising the worst curse,
perpetrated by modern man, written and executed in the form
of the Boom-Bam, Hip-hop, like the black man and woman,
can't be stopped, I love black people, but I mix alot,
I have black blood, but I ain't a blood clot, or clatt,
participating in a plot, to blot out the son,
I explore my mental, then I catch one, release one,
into the wild, file it away when I know it's serious,
and if the devil don't dig it, he can kiss my Post-erous,
never did I ask God why He gave me this gift,
I just smoke a mental spliff, when I begin to riff,
some people like the way you walk Sally,
I do too, but my mind is on the Great Rift Valley,
the cartels on the East Beast, silenced mouths in the South,
brotha's failing the test in the Midwest, and the beef with the Esse,
got the Valley's in Cali, resembling Midway, what can I say,
I just fear for my daughter, when I see black blood running like water,
wake up everyday prepared, to be scared,
man I don't want to die, I desire to live,
but I know it might come to pass, my life I will give,
a bullet or a shiv, because somebody's knockin' on heaven's door,
and can't get in, so they will submit to more sin,
and God forbid, come at my kin, and then...
that will be my final paragraph, don't fly the flag at half-mast,
have a blast, because D'ee will be free at last, free at last,
but until that day comes, lemme drop ebonic, plate tectonics,
on the seismograph
And the hook goes a little sommething like this...
MARK ON MY SKIN, NO STAIN ON MY HEART,
CHAINS ON MY SOUL, DOES IT MATTER WHERE
YOU AND DISEMBARKED,
MUST I COMPROMISE MY NEGRITUDE,
AND ATOMIZE INTO INDENTURED SERVITUDE,
TO SHOW AND PROVE
...I don't think I do. Matter of fact..I KNOW I DON'T. After all, I kept your attention this long right?