(poems go here) Not sure if this is the right way of livin’.
Because we’ve been taken from; more than we’ve been given.
We’ve been beaten and spit upon.
Kicked from the front to the backs of the buses that we ride on.
Sent around back while others “unlike” us are sent around to the front.
When we asked our parents for answers, they were always too seemingly blunt.
Why Ma? Why Pops? Why is this fair?
And you walk around stepping off the walks for the white man as if you didn’t care?
Tell me again why we can’t be friends.
Tell me again why we can’t shake hands.
We go to church and sing the songs,
Telling us that “A Change is Gonna Come.”
But when? Tell me when, Ma! I can’t wait too long.
If it don’t change now, before I know it, we’ll all be dead and gone…