Unchained, by Amory McKeever

What you're calling black pride

is just low self esteem

making every excuse

for not living the dream 

So if you're keeping it real

keep your daughter on the pill

'cause the boys in the hood

are looking for thrills

That's the best you can do

when you steal from everyone

until your own son lies dead in a field

shot by your own gun

and the only ones who know how he got it

are you and the hall closet

where you kept it tucked in a black sock

but he found it and now he's in the ground

and now you can't hold him

poor boy just did what you showed him

and learned how to hustle 

The streets only respect muscle

So he was boosting cars at sixteen

never knowing he'd be the one getting lifted

truly sad too the young man was gifted

He was better than the rest

knew every little trick

he learned from the best

I hope that makes you sick

every morning when you wake up you prick

You got one chance to be a good father

you lost a son don't lose your daughter

spend everyday playing doctor

teach her to grow up proper 

or you can take your shirt off

n' spin it round yo head like a helicopter 

She'll end up passed out on a couch

next to a bottle of Cristal

with a needle in her arm

and her brains pouring out

knees bent to anyone who can pay the rent

or give her another fix

of the shit she spent her last dime on

Now it's time for a toe tag and a song

about a father who buries his daughter

and buries his son

and everything they might have become

held down by the ghetto, guns, knives, and pimps

What kind of life is that for your kids

Sit at the table with Martin Luther King

he'll tell you that ghetto is short for get out

and don't put all the gold you own in your mouth

don't wander around looking for help

the promised land is there for children
if only you would help yourself

The democrats are not your savior

Your body may not be in chains

but they still want your brains

like a zombie apocalypse strain
to keep you line marching

all the way to the polls

to vote against your conscience
so they never lose control

Dilapidated, by Amory McKeever

She sat down at the easel
with a brush of imagination
Turned out a grand cathedral
the inheritance for her enation
If love was a magnum opus
given away without restraint
with patience and understanding
she would be the patron saint

Well, since this wasn't our canvas
it could never be our masterpiece
Couldn't stand what we were handed
that slowly drove us into madness
Then like such a little hellion
we took all of her paint
and in a moment of rebellion
turned those colors into pain

A splash of yellow here and there
green and blue with orange medallions
such happy snow capped mountains
explored by daft rapscallions
who never seem impressed
so we took all of her paint
and in a moment of protest
turned those colors into pain

We couldn't cover it in black
though we've tried a million years
So we go on the attack
and prove the truth of all our fears
Then during that haunted lunacy
we took all of her paint
and in a moment of mutiny
turned those colors into pain

There was no lack of splendor
on this work of alla prima
It just needed a defender
not some small conceited divas
with the most selfish of reasons
we took all of her paint
and in a moment of treason
turned those colors into pain

She sat down at the easel
to see what became of her foundation
That church burned down in the upheaval
the squandered estate of her creations
If forgiveness was a magnum opus
given away without complaint
with patience and understanding
she would be the patron saint

*image/painting by Yuumei*