Everyone, hands in the air!
DID YOU HEAR ME, HANDS IN THE AIR!
Don’t let the bubblegum voice fool you
This weapon is imaginary
Who knows what it can do?
No. Body. Move.
This is a stick up!
Of a particular purpose
practically perfect how probable the odds
so many of you have what I want to steal
hand over your black card
nigga don’t laugh
this ain’t funny
this ain’t a joke
this a motherlovin stick-up
do I like a clown?
dig down into the crevices of your scars
in the backspaces of your bones
in the tip-tops of your nerve-endings
wherever you hide your coonery
and show me your ID
you know your ID?
That imperialistic doctrine you have seared into your brain cells
Inane dogma gotacha prayin to false American Idols
That intrinsic domination that knocks at ya knee-caps till you kneel
hand it over
hand it over, or I shoot
it’s a imaginary weapon
who knows what it can do?
I know somebody got one
White people don’t pretend you didn’t swipe one with
Ya wigger ways
Gots to be at least a handful,
see last week someone said they were revoking mine
and that’s when it hit me
I’ve never had one before
I been travelin around this world
With my mind so open
The sky made itself comfortable
I started thinking I didn’t have any limits
That I wasn’t singing inside a cage
Stayed actin like I could be black
Not realizing skin-color ain’t gonna cut it.
No, what I need is to be a victim of the grand soul compacter
Stuff in the odds
And crush them even
Ensure every bit, is fit, into a neat little box
smoothed thin, add plastic veneer
Shear away any sense of self
Till I prove this identity valid
The Department of Melanin Verification feels
I haven’t done enough to deserve the honor of this glorified mugshot
So I figured
I’d just steal one of yours
Cause of course
All the pictures look the same
And we share our date of birth
April 4, 1968
Feburary 21, 1965
We all live in a two dimensional state
Compressed as thin as a BET’s quality lately
So reach slowly into your pocket
Pull out your dignity
toss it to the side
It’s not like you need it
Once that’s gone
The card I’m looking for
Will have the sheen of ignorant imaginings told truth
It will be glossed with a fresh coat of inferiority complex
Certified with residual racism renouncing ratchet raucous
coated with the skewed perspective of every person who
swears I sound white
coated with the skewed perspective of every person who actually think that if white sounded like anything, it would be grammatically correct
like Jersey Shore didn’t happen
STAHP PLAYIN BLACK PEOPLE
Stop pretendin like we’re not monolithic
Like race is based in the light spectrum
Where white is just absence of color
And black is the haphazard combination of everything else
TAKE ALL THE SEATS
If you think we can love each other
Without being each other’s clones
You think alone, you are complete individual breathing?
That people have to get to know you, to know you?
that every woman’s name isn’t Shawty ?
that every man’s name isn’t Hoodlum?
Are you really tellin me none of you niggas have a black card?