You just cannot tell me
To respect the men in blue
When I'm still a runaway,
Post-slave to the system
Still a blooded Indian
Still a blooded African
Still the 'other American in their eyes.
When my skin is targeted
Like an animal to poachers
Isn't it rather sick when you think about it?
Having to remain calm
While facing a pistol inches from the end of your life?
Isn't it sane?
Isn't it sane?
That's why you can't tell me shit,
I'm still the rebel on the other side of the fence..
Hugging trees, bonding with nature
Just in case they the trees to lynch my soul
My hands forming a relationship with a bat and a gun
In case both batons and guns decide to go against me.
I hope to rally the reservations
Rally the ghettos and the swamps
Rally the graveyards and hidden graves...
Under parks, homes, and luxurious structures...
Put up a fight to make things fair...
But I won't put up to a so-called soothing voice,
Telling to relax, chill, and to remain calm,
I was never a slave,
So yes sir, no sir, and thank you sir...
Are out of the question
Questionable when those men in blue,
Aren't even sirs at all.
Nonstop bullets, and secret lynchings
Nonstop veterans turning into zombies
Nonstop brown faces becoming the target..l
Yet we are to remain picking cotton
As they walk by....

I just can't.....
I can't fake it too long.

-Armaan