Post by griot on Aug 11, 2005 10:07:05 GMT -5
*SPOKEN WORD*
written by Warren Stokes
Now as I put the pad to pen, Simplified to the ten, broken to the dime. Let the lesson began. Cause its like an itch. This *bleep* always comes back. Thats from creation to destruction. Many tools was missing from the assembly line that was responsible for my production. Recalled! Cause my model has too many defective parts. You see they gave us Black bodies with the wrong hearts.
CULTURE!
We lost that like all the trees missing branches from our hanged fathers. I pick up te broken limbs to piece together my family tree. Why bother? Cause I want to know the ancestors who had been separated from my path. Like a wife leaving her husband, she took half. Stripped us of our past. She being "lady liberty" stole us from our history. Now a mystery, she burns our dreams to keep her torch lighted. We use the ignighted ashes that fall to construct our culture. Our lost souls seek the true pride we shared, picked apart like the vulture. Scrapes remain, cause ignorance of who we are left us foreverunprepared.
U.N.I.T.Y
Cause we are more separated than the distance from here to the Motherland, which makes my Mothers land the only soil I know. Placed in a system where cash rules everything around me, causes us to lose focus of friends from foes. Your brothas from te, who bought willie lynches guide. Its less than 400 years yo. Raised to keep our brothas and sistas in our fears. Light from dark, man from woman, young from old. That Black image in the mirror as the story is told. Genocidal programming leaves no village to harvest and raise our Nubian Gold.
Black Babies
Villageless are left to raise themselves. Mental elves. They play with guns, sex and drugs to pass the time away. Not concerned for their future needs, only their wants for the day. Looking to their elders and finding no respect. They grow up living cause and effect. So they select the easiest path. Dying as quick as they came they feel the wrath. Whats going on? Some say the same old song. Others say not knowing right from wrong. A wake up call to te who want to live but are under attack. Cause its like an itch, it always comes back.
L-I-F-E
Dedicated to te who came before me, Te who came with me, Te who came after me, and to te who have yet to come
written by Warren Stokes
Now as I put the pad to pen, Simplified to the ten, broken to the dime. Let the lesson began. Cause its like an itch. This *bleep* always comes back. Thats from creation to destruction. Many tools was missing from the assembly line that was responsible for my production. Recalled! Cause my model has too many defective parts. You see they gave us Black bodies with the wrong hearts.
CULTURE!
We lost that like all the trees missing branches from our hanged fathers. I pick up te broken limbs to piece together my family tree. Why bother? Cause I want to know the ancestors who had been separated from my path. Like a wife leaving her husband, she took half. Stripped us of our past. She being "lady liberty" stole us from our history. Now a mystery, she burns our dreams to keep her torch lighted. We use the ignighted ashes that fall to construct our culture. Our lost souls seek the true pride we shared, picked apart like the vulture. Scrapes remain, cause ignorance of who we are left us foreverunprepared.
U.N.I.T.Y
Cause we are more separated than the distance from here to the Motherland, which makes my Mothers land the only soil I know. Placed in a system where cash rules everything around me, causes us to lose focus of friends from foes. Your brothas from te, who bought willie lynches guide. Its less than 400 years yo. Raised to keep our brothas and sistas in our fears. Light from dark, man from woman, young from old. That Black image in the mirror as the story is told. Genocidal programming leaves no village to harvest and raise our Nubian Gold.
Black Babies
Villageless are left to raise themselves. Mental elves. They play with guns, sex and drugs to pass the time away. Not concerned for their future needs, only their wants for the day. Looking to their elders and finding no respect. They grow up living cause and effect. So they select the easiest path. Dying as quick as they came they feel the wrath. Whats going on? Some say the same old song. Others say not knowing right from wrong. A wake up call to te who want to live but are under attack. Cause its like an itch, it always comes back.
L-I-F-E
Dedicated to te who came before me, Te who came with me, Te who came after me, and to te who have yet to come
