i'm a dedicated black man,
a lone fan,
chapter of a clan,
but to most, an awful span
of life and dignity,
root of pity,
sane prodigy,
trapped in animosity,
but i dont worry,
cause they'll never feel the pain that's a part of me,
think i'm fragile, but i'm very much strong,
think i'm short, but i'm ver much tall and long,
think the fear is still there, but it's long gone,
cause i'm singing a new song
like Harriet Tubman was my mother,
Frederick Douglas my brother,
Langston Hughes words i stutter
trying to be Marcus Garvey gangster
as i use thoughts and memories of those fallen black warriors as my cover,
i'm not going to back down
cause they call me black when i'm brown,
some call us fat when we're round,
or call us hypocrites when we just got found,
and lazy, sorry and self-centered when we just got kicked down,
we go through more than a struggle,
either being legit or on the hustle,
i use my pen and my tongue as my sword
to slander outlandish remarks that are plan to ruin my glore,
but some of that jealousy
comes from a friend of me,
i sometimes wonder how i can be hated by my own kind,
when most of my thoughts are identical in the same mind,
but most of our fury and arguments
is created by a name that we created, but another race used it,
to define our ancestors and what they were,
but are they in the same conditions as my ancestors were,
are we really trapped and enslaved
because we havent made our own way
back to our motherland,
but why should we join forces with the ones that ran
when we have made our own place where many thought we couldnt,
done many things that many thought we shouldnt,
thats what keeps me motivated to being a proud black man and more
and become one of the greatest as a troubadour (french word for writer)