Black Codes From The Underground
Black Codes from the Underground
You know that racism is bad, when Beyoncé didn’t win. I mean, Adelle was Ok, but Beyoncé was all about the African American experience. She was talking about slavery and shit, about Jim Crow, about Donald Trump, about police brutality against young Black men. About the American police state, which “Trumps” up charges on African Americans, so they can get their prison industrial complex up and running, paid for by the blood, sweat and tears of African slaves. I even saw a documentary on PBS about how The Man was holding people down for profit. Because being down, meant that Mr. Charlie was getting up with capitalism.
Equality doesn’t come from hard work. It comes from poetry and rap music, basketball, chitins, and fried chicken. It comes from soul music and afros, symbols of righteousness that only the enlightened few can see and hear. We know the sound of oppression. We know the cry of the baby child, dodging bullets in ghettos built on oppression. By oppressors. By anti-Marxist, anti-human, for profit, sell your soul to the devil profiteers—the devil being whitey and his police power—while brothers and sisters sing spirituals, Black codes from the underground, Mahalia Jackson, James Brown, and Sam Cooke running naked through the streets.
This is the plan. This is our way out and up. This our plea falling on deaf ears. Blind men and women. Deaf mutes singing hosannas to the highest. Not the lowest, where Jesus, a Black man walked, while singing the blues. His apostles were like Soul train, Soul plane, like Duke Ellington’s big band, wailing and swinging blue notes, while ghosts of Jack Johnson and Malcolm X danced in rhythms too complex for the man to comprehend.
It’s when you can rap, that you will be free. Education won’t set you free. Money won’t set you free. Because it’s The Man’s money. The Man’s educational system. The Man. The Man. The Man.
You know who The Man is, and he did not set you free.
Ain’t no hakuna matata shit going on here! Just an AK47, aimed directly at you mutha f*cka’s!
Sincerely - The Democratic National Committee “For a bitter America.”
You know that racism is bad, when Beyoncé didn’t win. I mean, Adelle was Ok, but Beyoncé was all about the African American experience. She was talking about slavery and shit, about Jim Crow, about Donald Trump, about police brutality against young Black men. About the American police state, which “Trumps” up charges on African Americans, so they can get their prison industrial complex up and running, paid for by the blood, sweat and tears of African slaves. I even saw a documentary on PBS about how The Man was holding people down for profit. Because being down, meant that Mr. Charlie was getting up with capitalism.
Equality doesn’t come from hard work. It comes from poetry and rap music, basketball, chitins, and fried chicken. It comes from soul music and afros, symbols of righteousness that only the enlightened few can see and hear. We know the sound of oppression. We know the cry of the baby child, dodging bullets in ghettos built on oppression. By oppressors. By anti-Marxist, anti-human, for profit, sell your soul to the devil profiteers—the devil being whitey and his police power—while brothers and sisters sing spirituals, Black codes from the underground, Mahalia Jackson, James Brown, and Sam Cooke running naked through the streets.
This is the plan. This is our way out and up. This our plea falling on deaf ears. Blind men and women. Deaf mutes singing hosannas to the highest. Not the lowest, where Jesus, a Black man walked, while singing the blues. His apostles were like Soul train, Soul plane, like Duke Ellington’s big band, wailing and swinging blue notes, while ghosts of Jack Johnson and Malcolm X danced in rhythms too complex for the man to comprehend.
It’s when you can rap, that you will be free. Education won’t set you free. Money won’t set you free. Because it’s The Man’s money. The Man’s educational system. The Man. The Man. The Man.
You know who The Man is, and he did not set you free.
Ain’t no hakuna matata shit going on here! Just an AK47, aimed directly at you mutha f*cka’s!
Sincerely - The Democratic National Committee “For a bitter America.”