Mi mind, stuck in the school zone
as my people slow me up, with their foolish thougths
thinkin’ I think I’M BETTER THAN THEM when my
whole life has been so slow, like a snail with salt on his
back, My eyes continue to burn like, Cayenne Pep’R the
numbers continure to get higher, hotter like crawfish as
the southern waters run deep like the Mississippi,
separating us still, as we discriminate amongs ourselves…
not being able to give PEACE, as one good apple,
makes the whole pie, you see, I, just might be able to
start my own trend, just being me,
recognizing other queens, As the creator made more
than 1, more than me.
Source: 7 Pairs of Blackshoes, (c) D. Character, 2002.