Who are we?
A people of corn rows and pants low, skin exposed so everybody knows?
First friends, then foes
Fighting to get that 15 minutes are so?
Do we have tattoos in places; reserved spaces that the hands of a strange man are never suppose to see?
Do we mark and brand our body like a piece of property?
Who are you?
The clothes you wear?
The length of your hair?
The places you go?
The people you know?
Are you who you where made to be?
Have we been molded by society?
Our men say, “black girl where’s your hair baby and why you keep going to that Korean lady?”
Yeh ladies why do you cringe when you see your natural beauty, attack and kill your image like a guard on duty?
Sisters say “oh yeah, well brother where’s your manhood?”
Why you aint no good?
Why you don’t mine your kids like a father should?
How you just gonna plant seeds but never watch them grow?
Brothers’s shake their head in their heart they really just don’t know.
Who are we, does anybody know?
Are we who we were born to be?
Are our senses dulled by society?
When will we wake up and see, and break from our slave mentality?
WILLIE LYNCH IS ALIVE AND LIVING FOR FREE IN THE CORNERS OF OUR MINDS; EVICT THAT FREELOADER ITS ABOUT THAT TIME