2200
Tell Gregory Porter
To find me on the corner
With a cam recorder next to a coroner,
Where blood stains engrave
The cities pavement.
Bodies left behind outlined
Just to outline the enslavement.
Do my actions reflect those of a pacifist
Or a white hand that lacks a black fist?
Take a look at the visual of my concentration;
Open casket,
Nose high, closed eyes,
Tears of the surprised,
During the wake of the given invitation.
The received information
Results in cultural separations,
A fight for rights and reparations.
Targets painted in red across the nation,
Were never hard to hit ‘cause
They were cornered by gentrification.
Death becomes a part of recreation.
Pops couldn’t hop the scotch
Because of his inability to cope.
And young necks remain engrained
Because every day they jumpin’ rope.
Scholars hoping when
The bell rings hell doesn’t sing
On the grounds where they play,
‘cause bodies sway where ever they lay
Stringed to a child’s swing.
So tell Gregory Porter
To find me on the corner
With a cam recorder next to a coroner,
‘cause the school system
Is a southern battle zone
Positioned over catacombs
Filled with black skin
Killed by those
That lack melanin
But the color of their ligaments and bones
Remain akin.
