Black Weeds

When I’m applying for a job, nobody cares that my mother has two doctorate degrees; my father has his own company.  All they see is

that black dot, damn if I came from fine stock.  Just another nigga

trying to get bigger, just walking down the block cops reach for the trigger.

Why is it that?

I’m the most hated being on the planet, a black man holding his own.  I never had to rob and steal plus I own my own home.  No I didn’t grow up

In the projects for that I consider myself blessed but hated by my own people cause I didn’t settle for less.  Now I’m Uncle Tom cause I didn’t plot

To kill my own brother, selling crack on the corner or getting on it, to

support my habit stealing from my own mother. Just another punk cause I didn’t spend my life in and out of jail, considered a bookworm cause all

my classes I didn’t fail.

Why is it that?

I’m not considered a success, congratulated and treated different from all the rest.  My less fortunate brothers and sisters try to tell me I’m not acting black. But what is acting black?  Is black striving to be going nowhere but on welfare with an attitude like you don’t care, or is it about growing up to be a crook?  Tell me why black means it’s too hard to pick up a book.

when I want to be reminded I’m black all I have to do is apply for a job,

go shop and I dare not go for a jog cause I might get shot.  Mad at me

because I don’t want to be associated with crime.   Just because I’m black

why should I have to do time.  How could you be black and proud to be a

fool?  Who told you that bending over, being somebody’s bitch in jail was

cool?  But I have to give the little fagots props.  Who said black people

don’t stick together?  In Attica we run cellblocks.  Now ask yourself is this

the life you want for your seed, then by example you should lead.  Pick up

a book and stop growing little black weeds!