A shot of colors blare into the blackened night

The sound of firecrackers blinding us from reality.

Once the people from the big star in the sky,

Now simmering to rhyming lyrics and persuasive slurs.

 

Fake voices splutters from the mike,

A beat copied and altered playing.

Rhyming slurs about guns out and playin’,

Types of drugs they slayin’,

How their girls keep trippin’,

How they out there an pippin’,

Only words instead of actions that keeps repeating.

 

Strong and true speech spills from the heart,

A beat of the past playing.

Preaches with their own blood and tears coating each words,

Their spit and sweat drowning each meaning.

Their beat, is their feet pounding in the soil they once had.

Their beat, is the echo of the cries from the true forgotten past that made our future.  

Their beat, is each of the thumps of our hero’s who have been assassinated falsely.

Their beat, is each punch, kick, whipped, blow our ancestors received for us today.

Their beat, is the reality of the past,

Each true voices of our once true people, the people of the sun.

 

The smell of smoke floated into the blackened night,

The sound of a gun coats us to reality.

Once the people of the sun,

Now simmering to rhyming lyrics and persuasive slurs.

Hope for a new generation,

Hope that one day we will receive our true, rightful title again.

The People of the Sun.