Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Please

You're a fake
A phony
A faux
Plagiarized reality
You make me sick
Son of this daughter of that
So what? That makes me less black?
Visiting the Motherland
makes you no revolutionary
It never opened your eyes
All you are
is a tourist
With frequent flyer miles
E'en though I didn't march
I know all about the fight
I know what we had to do
To to get our rights
I'm a sellout
because my hair is permed?
So to be accepted I must live my life on your terms?
Dreadlocks and twists
mean nothing to me
They make you a customer
at an Ethnic Hair boutique
I don't pump my fist in the air
So I must be the Devil
You ain't no Assata
You're not even a rebel
Don't call me uneducated and ignorant
Treat me like an infant
Because I listen to Santana and not Marley
you think I can't sit around and parley?
You can't be all-around me with ease
So until you can
I'll dismiss you like
Please

Copyright © 2005 JackithaRippa
All rights reserved

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Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take and may this song play all the way, through. And if it skip a beat, hit repeat, this the realest shit I ever wrote, this is me. If it skip a beat, hit repeat, This the realest shit I ever wrote, this is me. -Juelz Sanatana, This Is Me, What The Game's Been Missing