We've fallen from grace,

And make haste,

To waste,

All our attempts for first place.

Its like we're gone without a trace.

What happened to our once strong race.

 

Black people are asleep,

And when they're awake...

They are unproductive

Interruptive,

Very destructive beings.

Only seeing what's wrong

But never what we can do to fix it.

 

Its just supposed to magically change,

Without the effort to estrange ourselves from the age

Of worthless,

Workless,

Changeless purpose.

 

We expect the world to stop and help us get up,

To spoon feed us is not enough,

To provide us the chance,

To enhance,

Every glance we get of the top chef's chopping block.

Instead we get knocked off,

Pushed down,

And stay at the bottom on the ground because its "comfortable"

Or its "too hard".

 

It was never easy being us.

Being black was always tough,

But we strived to own the world

And we taught it to survive the rough.

Then we forgot our roots.

 

So our tree of life died,

And right before our eyes,

We lost our sense of pride,

For being the best,

Better than the rest

 

And its time for it TO CHANGE.