deepundergroundpoetry.com

Recycled Ni@@ers


 
Sistaz get knocked up  
As brothas get locked up  
At astronomical rates  
It's damn near comical  
Makes you laugh until you cry  
Or just wanna holler  
Younginz repeatedly remanded  
Comin home with invisible collars  
Black balled and branded  
Children left stranded  
Single mothers struggling  
Facin hardknocks in  
Housing facilities  
With no sense of stability  
Waitin on men still considered  
A commodity on parole  
Fulfilling their societal role  
Studded out amongst their own  
Bringing more ghetto bastards  
Into a hateful world  
Unwanted  
Haunted by poverty  
All chasin the same dreams  
Dropping outta school  
With the same claim to fame  
Same course plotted  
Only a certain amount of slots  
Allotted for 'special' ni@@ers tho  
The rest destined to be recycled  
..reconfigured  
Reshuffled like a deck of cards  
Back to the bottom  
Beneath the joker  
Back in the penitentiary  
Without Tupac's benefactor  
Realizing they've been actors  
Playin thug life without a script  
Think quick!  
Gotta claim blood or crip  
Go Muslim or set trip  
Too many rappers lyin  
Commecializin the ghetto  
Playin the hood for fools  
Their kids are goin to private schools  
While they stay pretendin to  
Speak for the streets  
Jail ain't sweet  
[But] dependin on who they meet  
Might come home  
With some extra sugah in that tank  
From NY to Chi-town to the ATL  
Can't even tell who's on the down low  
It's a low down dirty shame  
A sinister game of three card monte  
Still no need to read sweaty palms  
Or the Gypsy's tarots to know  
Jay z and Lebron are nothing more  
Than dangling carrots..  
President Obama simply a parrot  
Futures choked off by an unseen garrote  
This is not the railroad Harriet envisioned  
Politicians makin provisions  
For private prisons  
This the anticipation of emancipation  
Makin free labor  
One of the few jobs a brotha can get  
Marginalized as they're continually  
Monopolized  
Pass go  
Do not collect $200  
Get back into the cell  
And let us not tell  
Of America's dirty laundry  
It'd be quite a quandary  
Explainin this million man march  
Into the underbelly of the beast  
Now please switch channels  
And let us focus on the turmoil  
In the Middle East..
Naajir
Written by Naajir
Published | Edited 2nd Dec 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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