Wednesday, October 10, 2018

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

Monday, March 12, 2018

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*