i am not your ****** nor your sister. i do not know the meaning of these words, mister. except in instances where i hate us like they hate us.
a putrid loathing sprouting from different colored grounds but a dangerous flower nonetheless.
they are not just words, they are drops of blood spilled from the lashed backs of our enslaved triple grandfathers and mothers.
our slang replaces hoses pushing us back during marches and righteous riots.
aggression equals regression equals deppression.
and now, it's all our fault. now it's black on black assault. now it's fly shoes and ghetto booties. poppin' bottles and poppin' caps, running through nights like street ******* rats.
what would W.E.B. DuBois say if he'd seen this backstep taken after we'd come this far, after reaching for stars and dropping the ball?
now i love this color. i love this color and prefer no other.
all i'm saying is, let us pick one day when we put the negroidian away put ****** back in it's roots. no, not the movie, don't me toby.
let us get the dream rollin' Mister King style, not Master P style. no big rims, or leather seats. none of that **** for awhile.
i'm saying takeover. i'm saying african-america makeover. i'm saying, let's take our pride back, like our homeland lions. let us make black a taste not so sour.