The Black American

I am the modern black man With marijuana, a gun or a book in hand My music is hip-hop/rap Why? Well, it’s a slap in the face Shakes up the place Not afraid to be original and say Everything I’m thinking My generation is ambiguous A mixture of variety Our numerous struggles with society Are quite enticing; see, We are Scholars and shottas Racist and Rastas Gangsters and great fathers I don’t quite understand it But we’ve advanced further Yet, Keep in mind that we must keep working My home is America But Africa is my true native land Wait… How is this home if we were brought here by the white man? But it’s funny, right? Brothaz die for their block Trying to gain street cred -Ability in the classroom, more credits and greater credentials are what I strive for anyways, I guess Hampton will always be my home. I am not responsible for the burden of my entire generation Yet, I do want to see us make it Which isn’t fair; We are trying to compete in this race full of racists, Based off of green faces This world needs a change and I have come to perform a facelift The moral of my tales goes to show That when we unite, we shall grow Even stronger Glow even brighter Maybe not in the physical, but I’m still a fighter.