May be
refin'd, and join th' angelic train.” - Phillis Wheatley
The nigga on the right
Hates the nigga on the left
And the niggas at the top
Are puttin' niggas on the shelf
Some niggas have it all
And they hoard all of their wealth
Other niggas are doin' what they can
And make the most of what's left
One nigga says
Another nigga's skin is too dark
And when that nigga disagrees
It's like igniting a spark
Everything goes dark
And that's the way it all starts
Now niggas are on a mission
To tear those niggas apart
Sellin' niggas
like they're stock
Dead a nigga for his guac
If that nigga needs a ride
Then that nigga better walk
(Or sell rocks)
Front row niggas
Holdin' backseat niggas
To a much lower standard
Ignoring what they're seein'
In the mirror
Inferior niggas
With their fingers on the trigger
Accomplices to the nonsense
As a nigga's sense of worth
Begins to wither
So it figures…
Little niggas drawing pictures
Of a living hell
They've got nothin' to go home to
So what's left for a nigga...
But a cell?
But just beyond
the pale
Is a cross and three nails
Where niggas, long ago, set up for failure
Find the good for what ails 'em
The race war that's been ragin'
Was long before us finished
To redeem us from our niggardly ways
And grant salvation to the chiefest of niggas
(cf. Numbers 12:1-10; Jeremiah 13:23; Proverbs 20:9; Romans 3:19, 23;
11:32; Galatians 3:22; Revelation 5:9-10)
Soli Deo Gloria,
Shon
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