I part the smoke with my hand because I’m stoned Moses and like Shaft I’ve come back for reparations.
Nothing wrong with speaking your mind as long as it’s your mind you’re speaking and not someone else’s you’ve rented like a backhoe or escort.
Something’s wrong with this picture and has been wrong since before Texas tried to secede from the union or a woman’s right to choose became everyone’s business.
There needs to be boundaries and those boundaries must be protected and I don’t mean by some seventeen year old vigilante who thinks making an ass of himself somehow makes him everyone’s best friend.
With allies like that I’d rather take my chances with my enemies because at least I know when they fire they won’t later plead self-defense or pretend that their crying isn’t anything more than salt rubbed in the wounds of an America constantly being triggered.
I part the smoke with my hand because I don’t need an AR-15 to show that I mean business when I come to your town like rolling thunder.
I’m stoned Moses and like stoned Moses I’ve been wrestling with a persecution complex from the very first time my baby formula arrived cold and no one in the kitchen would pay me any mind, I felt like Paula Dean after the verdict had been read.
Something’s wrong with this picture and futzing with the vertical or horizontal dials ain’t gonna do a damn bit of good. We will never have a real conversation in this country about race until we ask ourselves the tough questions that no one is willing to ask.
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