Part II of Taalam Acey

We need you to come back forward

Sorted into the monolithic mysteries of missing links

Between cotton fields and killing fields

These brothers need rebuilding

Whether they've burned out in cubicles

Or burned up on blocks

Whether they've been pushing pencils

Or pushing rocks

They done tried to go from capital to capitalist

But it wasn't enough action in their auction

So they been walkin' into prisons

Like roach motels

And the prison industrial complex

Done eliminated the division

Between slave quarters and cells

And look at him sitting there

Still thinking this is a white man's world

When his cell mate is white

And his cell mate is thinking if we could just

Get rid of these niggas

I could economically improve my trailer-park life

become a father to my children

And a husband to my wife

He has yet to figure

That he's just a flesh-colored nigga

Who can't even afford the luxury of being white

Both of them sitting there blaming each other

Living the same cell, Living the same life

Meanwhile the Net is destroying the minds of young men

The Net, Nigga Entertainment Television,

constantly broadcasting the crippling passions of the at-risk young population

showing videos and shows that make seventies blackXploitation films seem like the work of August Wilson

that's why I needed to have daughters

to give Ida B. Wells, Harriet Tubman and Queen Mother Moore

The opportunity to come back forward

I tell them he says he can't get past

"Her breast ... Her ass" but you gotta make 'em

take 'em under your wings make 'em rise

make 'em understand that the heaven between your thighs

can't compare to the salvation thats behind your eyes

revolutionary negotiation

He can't get wet if he can't get wise

remind him of the late nineteenth century and southern reconstruction

when black women made a pact not to touch him

if he wasn't about nothing, what happened then?

Brothers couldn't smoke ses on corners

Cause they were too busy smoking sessions in congress

But in this millennium the next could've been Malcolm X

Is somewhere taking a swig off of a 40 oz malt liquor

Called Black Death talking about "Damn that Billboard was right,

This shit here do put hair on a nigga's chest."

Tell 'em you ain't impressed.

He can go home and feel his own damn chest

If he can't take kids then he can't take sex.

Like Frederick Douglass "No Struggle. No Progress."

You can't process his request

Till he stops confusing his manhood with his baguettes

Tell him to tuck in his long-ass chains

And pull out some self-respect

Holdin' up street signs

Like somebody's paying him overtime

Grown-ass man gotta run like a bitch

Every time the police comes

And cause he calls himself a player

Now your son wants to be one

Tell him the cost of clowns in the community is buildin'

And our children simply can't afford it

Tell his backward ass to play the bottom

Till he's up and ready to come back forward!