I laced up my old chucks;

they were white when I bought them.

their soles are weary, cracked

and the laces frayed,

 

like mama’s voice.

 

“Baby don’t go!”

“Mama, I have to go.”

 

I have to make a stand for what’s right.

I have to stand on my weary soles.

I have a choice to make

and I choose to fight.

 

“Baby don’t go!”

“Mama, don’t worry;

the police are there”

 

Four score and seven years past,

Our ancestors stood up.

They stood to end the caste

system of race and religion.

 

“Baby don’t go!”

“Mama, don’t worry;

the police are there”

 

Mama, I must protest.

My voice will be heard,

change through unrest,

the duty of civil disobedience.

 

“Baby don’t go!”

“Mama, don’t worry;

the police are there”

 

Mama, all men are created equal,

endowed to unalienable rights

by their creator, lord of all,

the right to stand, hand in hand.

 

“Baby don’t go!”

“Mama, Don’t worry,

the police are there”

 

I left the house,

sign in hand

chucks on my feet

ready to make my stand.

 

The police were there,

and that's what mama was afraid of