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I am not a poet, |
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I am just a designer of words |
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Architecting sentences the way I form and merge |
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Paragraphes together that force MC's to submerge |
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With an urge, |
| [00:31.37] |
To break free of this bi-racial jail cell |
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Feast on my memories, |
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Please come and taste this |
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Papa was a black man, |
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Mama was a racist |
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Growin' up she called me nigga, |
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Kids called me cracka' |
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While the whites got whiter, |
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And the blacks got blacker |
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I was hurtin, |
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Doin' everything i can |
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Conceived as a white boy with the soul of a black man |
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God damn, |
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Looking up to Malcolm X |
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Studying his speeches and underlining text |
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How can i be white devil if my parents has sex |
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'Cus i'm black and i'm white |
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And i'm proud of every word that i recite |
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I know my roots, |
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I know my past |
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I know the issue of my race ain't gonna last |
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Yo, we all breathe the same air |
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And bleed the same blood |
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And when we die, |
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The same dish gets douved |
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|
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"I still have a dream, |
| [01:22.75] |
It is a dream teached within the american dream, |
| [01:26.20] |
That one day, |
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This nation will rise up, |
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Live out the true meaning of being free. |
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Behold these truths to be self evident, |
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That all men are created equally." |
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