Spike Lee Told the Truth

1989! Before those rocks and clumps had come home,
I was the divine number up past the devil's hour rockin
the b-boy stance. I had criss-crossed the rivers from
enslavement to freedom like ancestors past, only to be
given a weekend pass in the projects. My mother had
turned Private Benjamin, and my father's demons were
still incubating, their hatching would herald an end.
My brother was away, the games some women play,
pity no one keeps score of the consequences.
I was out with the freaks, unaware of what goes on at night.
I'd learn later. I saw Radio Raheem murdered on the silver screen,
screamed RADIO! as I fled the murder scene. Told the mayor
he had my sympathies, he told me my sympathies don't mean shit!
Da Mayor told me to do the right thing. I'm just a nappy headed
kid trying to figure things out. I have no clout, no credit,
no representation. God save us from those sirens and police lights.
I had a nightmare. A nightmare that 41 shots would slice
me to ribbons at my door. Sending me to heaven while my
brethren flounder in hell. Hell is spelled J-A-I-L. Where are the
parents? Was the question on the world's mind, I don't have
the answer. I saw the creativity of my peers blossom,
spark and explode. Latchkey kids bombing trains,
and breakin the streets. Scribbling poetry on abandoned tenements,
erecting murals on burnt out storefronts. Everyday is an art showing.
These are our offerings. I played ding-dong ditch with the kids up
the street. Hide and Go-Get-It with the girl around the corner.
Mount up the posse, we ridin. 10 speeds only, see if you can pop
a wheelie. This was my youth, true or false. My life and yours,
I can't separate the two. Its just another hot day. Summer. Brooklyn, USA.