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?

Nobody move

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

someone

just one

hand over your black card

 

don’t laugh

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

Feel me?

hand it over

hand it over, or I shoot

or incinerate

or obliterate

it’s a imaginary weapon

who knows what it can do?

 

Black cards

I know somebody got one

White people don’t pretend you didn’t swipe one with

Ya wigger ways

Figures theys

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

without proof

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

 

Apparently

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

Or

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

BE REAL.  

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?

Really?

No one?

 

Imagine that