Yo this that Disco Frank Sinatra, I been sipping on Madonna
I could get it how I wanna if I wanna I don’t wanna
Facebook scrolling through some trauma; steady trolling causing drama
I been Creepin’ on ah Come Up; hate them Mondys love lasagna
Cooking pasta do it proper—al dente to the teeth
Flow Fuente—woe is me; diet plenty poetry
Arrivederci to my twenties, run from Jenny, run on empty
I been skiing hitting bunnies, is they your words? You look dummies.
I can see your puppet strings, I know what them ashes brings
Treat the dead ones like they kings; live ones slanging onion rings
This for Saratoga Springs; this for Sarasota Rings
Down under burning check the climate 2020 is a crisis
Think you need to check your eyes-es, think you need to call the doctor
This ain’t awkward, this is knowledge; I’m a scholar I teach college
And I done learned a couple things
About what my privilege brings

Am I misappropriating? Life is incapacitating.
This shit disorientating. What’s your military rating?
Kill a hundred no one notice, kill one man it’s met with protest
I’ve been silent this I confess, but I got a rage in my chest
I just don’t know how to say it, some folks take a gun and spray it
Some folks need to start a garden, buy one get one that’s a bargain
We take action; they distraction. Spend your money here & here
I need y’all to hear me clear—they wanna rule with fear
But I’m that disco Frank Sinatra, I been sipping on Madonna
I could get it how I wanna, if I wanna ——
Facebook scrolling through some trauma, think it’s time to call my momma
Tell my poppa that I love him, that I’m always thinking of him
And I know his dad’s at peace, times is hard: he was police
But the zebra changed its spots. Is they army, is they cops?
White folks sending prayers & thoughts; take a knee 8:46
But for them this never stops—we don’t know what struggle is

Take our profiles paint it black. Gave ourselves a pat on the back.
Saying sorry for what we did in the past. Never sorry for what still haps.
Say it “ain’t our fault, we ain’t the oppressor.” Complacency is our transgression
Put a band-aid on it and make it all better. We could fix it all by pulling this lever.
But the system’s broke—ain’t that clever. Weather the storm, but we can’t weather the weather.

So we just circle dead black bodies like vultures.
Do we love black people? Or just love black culture?