The white man says he knows the Negro....
He says he has driven through the neighborhoods,
seeing the Government building doors open wide.
With lines long filled with grandmothers and poorly dressed children.
Dozens of people sitting outside....
Are these Negros slaves?
With the way they are or where they live.
Living in the Government provided subsidized homes.
Are they slaves, when their daughters are having abortions here,
When their sons are in prison.
What do they do now?
With the Negro being on Government subsidy,
they never learned to pick cotton.
Leaving them with nothing to do,
Are they better off as a slave?
At least slavery taught them to pick cotton and have a family life and do things....
Or are they better off under governmental subsidy?
The white man says don't get more freedom,
He says we get less.
The black man says...
you don't know the Negro and you sho' nuff don't know me.
But I've seen you as you drive through my neighborhood,
giving us judgemental glares and those assumptive stares.
With your noses raised, riding down these pot holed and cracked
asphalt, now grey streets.
Talking under your breath,
counting black heads within the long lines.
Crowding those same Government buildings.
Yes white man, I see you.
And you think that we are lazy,
cause those young and old ladies...
With those babies are attempting to get and keep food to eat.
So no-one in their family goes hungry,
while being humiliated, time and time again.
every time they go for interviews and turn applications in.
Trying to make moves out of those subsidized homes.
So called structures built to protect and house their families,
are nothing but shanties.
Shacks that are reminiscent of what the field Negro had to call home.
You ask are we slaves?
With Mr. Officers modern day oppression and modern day lynching.
But the black man that I am,
Is at a conundrum....
Cause hypothetically and realistically,
the answer is a yes.
But my answer is complex,
cause I of a darker shade,
was once afraid and now I would rather die on my feet,
than die on my knees.
Which makes me free,
but with that freedom comes a cost...
A price that my ancestors paid....
With blood, sweat and the unforgotten tears.
the one Negro that Mr. White Man fears.
The one within hundreds with the strength and intellect.
That Negro that if you left unchained....
Would awaken you with the crack of the whip [that split many a slaves back],
feeling the lashes tearing the white of your skin.
it's the least I can do...
Cause by you making us pick cotton,
you gave us something to do.
Like igniting my desire to free myself of you.
Leading the escape and unshackling the minds,
that now follow behind.
Constructing camps to towns,
towns to cities....
Transforming slaves and servants to businessman and CEO's.
Now as President ruling the country as a whole....
So white man, you think you know the Negro?
But you could never understand a piece of this man.
Your comprehension would com-bust...
Cause the fathoms of our Desire,
Grace and Intellect.
Flows from my soul to my bone, to my flesh;
and that white man makes me
GRATEFUL FOR MY MELANIN!