Joyner Lucas – I’m Not Racist

 

Lyrics

With all due respect
I don’t have pity for you black niggas, that’s the way I feel
Screamin’ “Black Lives Matter”
All the black guys rather be deadbeats than pay your bills
Yellin’ “nigga this” and “nigga that”
Call everybody “nigga” and get a nigga mad
As soon as I say “nigga” then everyone react
And wanna swing at me and call me racist ’cause I ain’t black
Well pound that then
Talkin’ about slavery like you was around back then
Like you was pickin’ cotton off the fuckin’ ground back then
Like you was on the plantation gettin’ down back then
Aight, look
I see a black man aimin’ his gun
But I’d rather see a black man claimin’ his son
And I don’t mean just for one day and you done
I mean, you still trapped in a rut
And I work my ass off and I pay my taxes for what?
So you can keep livin’ off free government assistance?
Food stamps for your children, but you’re still tryna sell ’em
For some weed and some liquor or a fuckin’ babysitter
While you party on the road ’cause you ain’t got no fuckin’ goals?
You already late
You motherfuckas needa get your damn priorities straight
Wait, it’s like you’re proud to be fake
But you lazy as fuck and you’d rather sell drugs
Than get a job and be straight, and then you turn around and complain
About the poverty rate? Fuck outta my face!
You can’t escape problems
You can pray for some change but can’t break a dollar
Got nobody else to blame, so you blame Donald
“They fuck the world with a Make America Great condom”
My voice been back
I’m not racist, my sister’s boyfriend’s black
I’m not racist, my sister-in-law’s baby cousin Tracy
Got a brother and his girlfriend’s black
My head’s in the cloud
Heard there’s not enough jobs for all the men in your house
Maybe we should build a wall to keep the Mexicans out
Or maybe we should send ’em all to the ghetto for now
I’m not racist and I never lie
But I think there’s a disconnect between your culture and mine
I worship the Einsteins, study the Steve Jobs
But you ride 2Pac’s dick like he was a fuckin’ god, oh my god
And all you care about is rappin’
And stuntin’ and bein’ ratchet, and that’s the nigga within you
Music rotting your brain and slowly start to convince you
Then you let your kids listen and then the cycle continues
Blame it all on the menu, blame it on those drinks
Blame it on everybody except for your own race
Blame it on white privileges, blame it on white kids
And just blame it on white citizens, same with the vice president
Bunch of class clowns
Niggas kneelin’ on the field, that’s a flag down
How dare you try to make demands for this money?
You gon’ show us some respect, you gon’ stand for this country, nigger!
I’m not racist
I’m just prepared for this type of war
I heard Eminem’s rap at the awards, who’s he fightin’ for?
Y’all can take that motherfucker, too, he ain’t white no more
It’s like you wanna be so famous
You’ll do anything for attention and a little payment
I can’t take you nowhere without people pointin’ fingers
Pants hangin’ off your ass, you ain’t got no home trainin’?
Put your fuckin’ pants up, nigga! Put that suit back on!
Take that du-rag off! Take that gold out your mouth!
Quit the pitiful stuff
And then maybe police would stop killin’ you fucks
Yo, what the fuck? I’m not racist
It’s like we livin’ in the same buildin’ but split into two floors
I’m not racist
But there’s two sides to every story, I wish that I knew yours
I wish that I knew yours
I’m not racist, I swearWith all disrespect
I don’t really like you white motherfuckers, that’s just where I’m at
Screaming “All Lives Matter”
Is a protest to my protest, what kind of shit is that?
And that’s one war you’ll never win
The power in the word “nigga” is a different sin
We shouldn’t say it but we do, and that just what it is
But that don’t mean that you can say it just ’cause you got nigga friends
Nigga, that word was originated for you to keep us under
And when we use it, we know that’s just how we greet each other
And when you use it, we know there’s a double meaning under
And even if I wasn’t picking cotton physically
That don’t mean I’m not affected by the history
My grandmama was a slave, that shit gets to me
And you ain’t got no motherfucking sympathy, you pussy nigga!
I’m sorry you can never feel my life
Tryna have faith, but I never felt alright
It’s hard to elevate when this country’s ran by whites
Judging me by my skin color and my blackness
Tryna find a job but ain’t nobody call me back yet
Now I gotta sell drugs to put food in my cabinet
You crackers ain’t slick, this is all a part of your tactics
Don’t talk about no motherfucking taxes, when I ain’t making no dough
You think you know everything but you don’t
You wanna copy our slang and everything that we know
Try to steal black culture and then make it your own, whoa
Fuck, I’m exhausted
I can’t even drive without the cops tryna start shit
I’m tired of the systematic racism bullshit
All you do is false shit, this the shit that I’m force fed
And you don’t know shit about my people, that’s what bothers you
You don’t know about no fried chicken and no barbeque
You don’t know about the two-step or no loose change
You don’t know about no 2 Chainz or no Kool-Aid, you don’t know!
And even though Barack was half as black
You hated president Obama, I know that’s a fact
You couldn’t wait to get him out and put a cracker back
And then you gave us Donald Trump and now it’s payback for that
I’m not racist, I never lied
But I know there’s a disconnect between your culture and mine
Yeah, I praise 2Pac like he was a fuckin’ god
He was fighting for his life way before he fuckin’ died, nigga, die nigga!
And all you care about is money and power
And being ugly and that’s the cracker within you
Hatred all in your brain, it slowly start to convince you
And then you teach it to your children until the cycle continue
Blame it on Puerto Rico, blame it on OJ
Blame it on everybody, except for your own race
Blame it on black niggas and blame it on black citizens
Aim at the black businesses, I ain’t saying I’m innocent
But, I might be any day now
Treatin’ everybody how you want and any way how
I swear North Korea ’bout to bomb us any day now
And now I’m duckin’ everytime I hear a fuckin’ plane now, shit
You know I make a lot of sense but you just can’t admit it
When Eminem went against Trump, that was the illest
‘Cause even though he’s white, he let us know he standin’ with us
I’m not racist, but I cry a lot
You don’t know what it’s like to be in a frying pot
You don’t know what it’s like to mind your business
And get stopped by the cops and not know if you ’bout to die or not
You worry ’bout your life, so you take mine
I love you but I fuckin’ hate you at the same time
I wish we could trade shoes or we could change lives
So we could understand each other more but that’d take time
I’m not racist
It’s like we livin’ in the same buildin’ but splittin’ the both sides
I’m not racist
But there’s two sides to every story and now you know mine

Can’t erase the scars with a bandage
I’m hopin’ maybe we can come to an understandin’
Agree to disagree, we could have an understandin’
I’m not racist

The Last Poets’ Abiodun Oyewole Talks To Us About Creating 50 Years of Revolutionary Culture and Art

 

On this episode of Renegade Culture the Last Poets’ Abiodun Oyewole discusses the upcoming 50th anniversary of their groundbreaking album and creating revolutionary art; the rise of Black Power and the politics of the word Nigga; celebrating and suing Hip-Hop artist who sampled their work.

Follow us on Soundcloud, Apple and social media.

Hosted by Kalonji Changa and Kamau Franklin
Produced by Naka “The Ear Dr”
Recorded at Playback Studios in the Historic West End of Atlanta, Ga

Mama Afrika | Andrew Tosh

Originally written and performed by the late, great Peter Tosh. Featuring Peter’s son, Andrew Tosh, with Donald Kinsey, Fully Fullwood and musicians from Africa to Jamaica to the USA.

Marcus Garvey Speech Delivered at Liberty Hall in NY City during the Second International Convention of Negroes. August 1921

Four years ago, realizing the oppression and the hardships from which we suffered, we organized ourselves into an organization for the purpose of bettering our condition, and founding a government of our own. The four years of organization have brought good results, in that from an obscure, despised race we have grown into a mighty power, a mighty force whose influence is being felt throughout the length and breadth of the world. The Universal Negro Improvement Association existed but in name four years ago, today it is known as the greatest moving force among Negroes. We have accomplished this through unity of effort and unity of purpose, it is a fair demonstration of what we will be able to accomplish in the very near future, when the millions who are outside the pale of the Universal Negro Improvement Association will have linked themselves up with us.

By our success of the last four years we will be able to estimate the grander success of a free and redeemed Africa. In climbing the heights to where we are today, we have had to surmount difficulties, we have had to climb over obstacles, but the obstacles were stepping stones to the future greatness of this cause we represent. Day by day we are writing a new history, recording new deeds of valor performed by this race of ours. It is true that the world has not yet valued us
at our true worth but we are climbing up so fast and with such force that every day the world is changing its attitude towards us. Wheresoever you turn your eyes today you will find the moving influence of the Universal Negro Improvement Association among Negroes from all corners of the globe. We hear among Negroes the cry of “Africa for the Africans”. This cry has become a
positive, determined one. It is a cry that is raised simultaneously the world over because of the universal oppression that affects the Negro. You who are congregated here tonight as Delegates representing the hundreds of branches of the Universal Negro Improvement Association in different parts of the world will realize that we in New York are positive ill this great desire of a  free and redeemed Africa. We have established this Liberty Hall as the centre from which we send out the sparks of liberty to the four corners of the globe, and if you have caught the spark in your section, we want you to keep it a-burning for the great Cause we represent.

There is a mad rush among races everywhere towards national independence. Everywhere we hear the cry of liberty, of freedom, and a demand for democracy. In our corner of the world we are raising the cry for liberty, freedom and democracy. Men who have raised the cry for freedom and liberty in ages past have always made up their minds to die for the realization of the dream. We who are assembled in this Convention as Delegates representing the Negroes of the world give out the same spirit that the fathers of liberty in this country gave out over one hundred years ago.

We give out a spirit that knows no compromise, a spirit that refuses to turn back, a spirit that says “Liberty or Death”, and in prosecution of this great ideal—the ideal of a free and redeemed Africa, men may scorn, men may spurn us, and may say that we are on the wrong side of life, but let me tell you that way in which you are travelling is just the way all peoples who are free have traveled in the past. If you want Liberty you yourselves must strike the blow. If you must be free you must become so through your own effort, through your own initiative. Those who have discouraged you in the past are those who have enslaved you for centuries and it is not expected that they will admit that you have a right to strike out at this late hour for freedom, liberty and democracy.

At no time in the history of the world, for the last five hundred years, was there ever a serious attempt made to free Negroes. We have been camouflaged into believing that we were made free by Abraham Lincoln. That we were made free by Victoria of England, but up to now we are still slaves, we are industrial slaves, we are social slaves, we are political slaves, and the new Negro desires a freedom that has no boundary, no limit. We desire a freedom that will lift us to the
common standard of all it men, whether they be white men of Europe or yellow men of Asia, therefore, in our desire to lift ourselves to that standard we shall stop at nothing until there is a free and redeemed Africa.

I understand that just at this time while we are endeavoring to create public opinion and public sentiment in favor of a free Africa, that others of our race are being subsidized to turn the attention of the world toward a different desire on the part of Negroes, but let me tell you that we who make up this Organization know no turning back, we have pledged ourselves even unto the last drop of our sacred blood that Africa must be free. The enemy may argue with you to show
you the impossibility of a free and redeemed Africa, but I want you to take as your argument the thirteen colonies of America, that once owed their sovereignty to Great Britain, that sovereignty has been destroyed to make a United States of America. George Washington was not God Almighty. He was a man like any Negro in this building, and if he and his associates were able to make a free America, we too can make a free Africa. Hampden, Gladstone, Pitt and Disraeli
were not the representatives of God in the person of Jesus Christ. They were but men, but in their time they worked for the expansion of the British Empire, and today they boast of a British Empire upon which “the sun never sets.” As Pitt and Gladstone were able to work for the expansion of the British Empire, so you and I can work for the expansion of a great African Empire Voltaire and Mirabeau were not Jesus Christ, they were but men like ourselves. They worked and overturned the French Monarchy. They worked for the Democracy which France now enjoys, and if they were able to do that, we are able to work for a democracy in Africa. Lenin and Trotsky were not Jesus Christ, but they were able to overthrow the despotism of Russia, and today they have given to the world a Social Republic, the first of its kind. If Lenin and Trotsky were able to do that for Russia, you and I can do that for Africa.

Therefore, let no man, let no power on earth, turn you from this sacred cause of liberty. I prefer to die at this moment rather than not to work for the freedom of Africa. If liberty is good for certain sets of humanity it is good for all. Black men, Colored men, Negroes have as much right to be free as any other race that God Almighty ever created, and we desire freedom that is unfettered, freedom that is unlimited, freedom that will give us a chance and opportunity to rise to the fullest of our ambition and that we cannot get in countries where other men rule and
dominate.

We have reached the time when every minute, every second must count for something done,something achieved in the cause of Africa. We need the freedom of Africa now; therefore, we desire the kind of leadership that will give it to us as quickly as possible. You will realize that not only individuals, but governments are using their influence against us. But what do we care
about the unrighteous influence of any government? Our cause is based upon righteousness. And anything that is not righteous we have no respect for, because God Almighty is Our leader and Jesus Christ our standard bearer. We rely on them for that kind of leadership that win make us free, for it is the same God who inspired the Psalmist to write “Princes shall come out of Egypt and Ethiopia shall stretch out her hands unto God”. At this moment me thinks I see Ethiopia stretching forth her hands unto God and methinks I see the Angel of God taking up the standard of the Red, the Black and the Green, and saying “Men of the Negro Race, Men of Ethiopia, follow me”. Tonight we are following. We are following 400,000,000 strong. We are following with a determination that we must be free before the wreck of matter, before the crash of worlds.

It falls to our lot to tear off the shackles that bind Mother Africa. Can you do it? You did it in the Revolutionary War. You did it in the Civil War; you did it at the Battles of the Marne and Verdun; You did it in Mesopotamia. You can do it marching up the battle heights of Africa. Let the world know that 400,000,000 Negroes are prepared to die or live as free men. Despise us as much as you care. Ignore us as much as you care. We are coming 400,000,000 strong. We are coming with our woes behind us, with the memory of suffering behind us—woes and suffering of three hundred years—they shall be our inspiration. My bulwark of strength in the conflict for freedom in Africa will be the three hundred years of persecution and hardship left behind in this Western Hemisphere. The more I remember the suffering of my fore-fathers, the more I remember the lynchings and burnings in the Southern States of America, the more I will fight on
even though the battle seems doubtful. Tell me that I must turn back, and I laugh you to scorn. Go on! Go on! Climb ye the heights of liberty and cease not in well doing until you have planted the banner of the Red, the Black and the Green on the hilltops of Africa.

Langston Hughes: ‘The Negro Speaks of Rivers’

Langston Hughes (1902-1967) was an African American poet writing during the “Harlem Renaissance” of the 1920s. He had some white and Native American ancestry that also had influence on his work.  Hughes wrote many poems that were supportive of the history and culture of Black people and for a while in the 1930s was a sympathizer of the Communist Party. The poems “The Negro Speaks of Rivers” and “Democracy” express some of his core beliefs. 

“A Negro Speaks of Rivers”

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

“Democracy”

Democracy will not come

Today, this year

Nor ever

Through compromise and fear.

 

I have as much right

As the other fellow has

To stand

On my two feet

And own the land.

 

I tire so of hearing people say,

Let things take their course.

Tomorrow is another day.

I do not need my freedom when I’m dead.

I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread.

 

Freedom

Is a strong seed

Planted

In a great need.

 

I live here, too.

I want freedom

Just as you.

https://mypoeticside.com/show-classic-poem-13652

 

 

source:Langston Hughes: ‘The Negro Speaks of Rivers’

Prison Radio Commentaries

Australia: The Fire This Time
(2:07)
Mumia Abu-Jamal

Born On The Move
(5:02)
Mike Africa Jr.

The Senate Trial
(1:48)
Mumia Abu-Jamal

Delbert Africa, Free!
(2:51)
Mumia Abu-Jamal

More Clemency
(3:06)
Dontie Mitchell

Sister Marpessa, A Griot Passes
(2:49)
Mumia Abu-Jamal

A Question of Leadership
(3:17)
Dontie Mitchell

Change is Coming
(2:37)
Omar Askia Ali

The Truth is More Insidious and Treacherous
(2:16)
Dontie Mitchell

Anthem 4 Rappers Wrapped in The Flag

Oh Jay Can U C
By the dawn of Imperialist greed
They will eat u 2
After they fatten u up to deceive
U took the bait
So they call u great
The white man’s oldest trick in the book

Oh Jay can u c
We got them on the ropes
But u given em hope sellin that dope
Marcy project style
We should’ve known then
you’d sell out kin
Does it pay enough?

Oh Jay can u c
A rapper wrapped in the Flag
Is a Bum B Clot rag
That don’t rap for the people no more

Oh Jay can U C
The league is the draft for the volunteer Army
Check the commercial breaks
Be all U can Be

Ain’t that what they say J  Z?

U rocking the twist now but don’t get it twisted
Smith and Carlos did it two fisted
Kap took a knee
Mahmoud did it in prayer
Yet you dare
To obscure the collective anti-imperialist message because their Imperialists feed your capitalist greed

Oh Jay, by capitalism’s dimming light, u gotta C the trap

Or is Rock Nation part of it?

source: https://blackagendareport.com/

REVOLUTIONARY BLACK READS

I’ve been an avid reader since the days of my toddlerhood, when mom used to put books and magazines in my playpen. I was the kid with a library card dragging home a backpack filled with sci-fi, mysteries, poetry and biographies. In high school I couldn’t play basketball, but was chosen “Biggest Reader” by the yearbook committee. While I would grow-up to become a journalist and critic, in 2018 I began writing a book column called The Blacklist for Catapult. My mission was to spotlight subjects that were less known than the regular canon; and I’ve also profiled out-of-print or forgotten Black authors for The Paris Review and Longreads. When AFROPUNK asked me to compile a list of revolutionary Black reads, I followed the same guidelines, wanting to present to the audience authors or books that were unfamiliar, but radical.

Charlotte Carter’s Walking Bones, is a chilling New York City noir novel of fatal attraction, edgy sexuality and Manhattan cool. Telling the twisted tale of a relationship between a Black former model named Nettie and her crazy relationship with Caucasian businessman Albert Press, who falls in love with her after she smashes a glass in his face. Author Carter is known for her jazz detective series featuring Nanette Hayes (Rhode Island Red), but the gloomy black cloud fiction of Walking Bones was something completely different for the author. Citing 1980s writer Nettie Jones’ erotic novel Fish Tales as inspiration, Walking Bones is a story that lingers in your mind long after you’ve finished the book.

Toni Morrison is best known as the writer of literary masterworks,The Bluest Eye and Beloved, but her work as a Random House editor during the 1970s and early ‘80s should not be discounted. During her stint at the publishing company, Morrison introduced the world to numerous writers, including Gayl Jones (Corregidora), Henry Dumas (Ark of Bones and Other Stories) and Nettie Jones (Fish Tales). Still, it was the non-fiction collection she helped edit, The Black Book, that would become one of her biggest sellers. Serving as an early guide through African-American history, The Black Book was originally published in 1974. The groundbreaking book is full of photos, files and documents that NPR described as “a scrapbook to the African-American experience.”

Virtuoso writer Edward P. Jones won a Pulitzer Prize for his first and only novel, 2003’s The Known World, but he is also one of the best living short story writers in America as proven by his second collection, All Aunt Hagar’s Children (2006). The book’s fourteen stories take place in the author’s native Washington, D.C., where he still lives, and depicts the complex lives of regular folks just trying to make it through the bullshit obstacles and dire dangers of the world. Jones’ style is beautiful, lush and, as in the stand-out story “A Rich Man,” packs a novel’s worth of ideas into its short form.

There was a “once upon a time” when Harlem native Samuel R. Delany was the only Black (professional) science fiction writer. In addition to his own innovative novels — including Nova and the massive 1975 classic Dhalgren — he was one of Octavia Butler’s writing teachers. Although Delany has written everything from comic books to scholarly essays to prize winning short stories, it’s his moving 1988 memoir, The Motion of Light in Water: Sex and Science Fiction Writing in the East Village, 1957-1965, that I’ve revisited more than any the other text. Detailing his early years as a brainetic but dyslexic student at the Bronx High School of Science, then his life as a married but also gay, bohemian sci-fi writer in New York’s bohemian Greenwich Village, Delany weaves a splendid narrative that serves as the perfect introduction to his genius.

There are some who only know the late Ntozake Shange as the author behind For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/When the Rainbow Is Enuf, a stage-piece that became a Tony Awards-nominated play, but she was also a respected poet and novelist who wrote in a jazzy style that could be as wild and free as a John Coltrane solo. My introduction to her work was finding the brilliant collection nappy edges (1978) on my mama’s bookcase when I was a teenager. Whether riffing about men, music or misery, Shange’s writing in Nappy Edges was quite moving and would become a major influence for many post-Black Arts Movement scribes.

When I was a young music critic coming of age, a friend introduced me to the work of bell hooks, and her smart, sharp and often snide writing changed the way I thought about feminist theory, personal essays and cultural criticism. Serious without being pretentious, hooks has also been quite prolific, as she turned out memoirs (Bone Black, Wounds of Passion: A Writing Life) and stellar essay collections that included the brilliant, Art on My Mind: Visual Politics. In that book, hooks dived deep into the works of Jean-Michel Basquiat, Carrie Mae Weems and Emma Amos, and crafts a must-read text for anyone interested in Black art and artists.

Beginning in the early 1960s there was an influx of Black writers living in the Bay Area that included novelist Ishmael Reed, poet David Henderson and Al Young, who switched literary forms depending on his mood. The Mississippi native moved to Oakland in 1961, and wrote a trunk-full of poems, novels, film scripts and short stories, his style inspired by the music he loved, which included everything from Mozart to Mingus to Motown. In the 1980s, Young penned several musical memoirs including Bodies & Soul (1981), Kinds of Blue (1984) and Things Ain’t What They Used to Be (1986) that used the songs of Duke Ellington, Aretha Franklin and the Supremes, among others, to jump-start his memories. As Publishers Weekly proclaimed, “Young’s exuberant essays are imaginative and lyrical paeans to the magical powers of both language and music.”

Back when alternative newspapers mattered, NYC’s Village Voice was the leader of the pack. In the 1980s, music editor Robert Christgau was determined to make the arts section diverse, and began publishing the works of still-relevant Black writers like Nelson George, Carol Cooper, Barry Michael Cooper, Joan Morgan, dream hampton and the brotha of the moment Greg Tate. Calling himself Ironman, his work was riotous like Sly Stone on speed, as Tate pioneered what we now call “hip-hop journalism,” with early pieces on De La Soul and Public Enemy, while also writing about Mile Davis, William Gibson, George Clinton and AR Kane. His first collection Flyboy in the Buttermilk serves as the perfect Yellow Brick Road to ease on into Tate’s written work. (For his music, check in on Burnt Sugar Arkestra, which played AFROPUNK Brooklyn in 2019.)

When writer Bridgett M. Davis was working on her now acclaimed memoir The World According to Fannie Davis: My Mother’s Life in the Detroit Numbers, we spoke about the work of author Louise Meriwether, whose stirring novel Daddy Was a Number Runner served as her inspiration. Published in 1970, it is the tale of 12‐year‐old Francie Coffin who lives in 1930s Harlem amongst the tenement tribes of strugglers, hustlers and ordinary people on the verge of explosion. However, Meriwether refused for her protagonist to become a victim of ghetto misery. Fellow novelist Pauline Marshall wrote in her New York Times review, “The novel’s greatest achievement lies in the strong sense of Black life that it conveys; the vitality and force behind the despair. It celebrates the positive values of the Black experience: the tenderness and love that often underlie the abrasive surface of relationships.”

Brian Greene contributed a wonderful essay on little known novelist Robert Deane Pharr to the recently released collection, Sticking It To The Man: Revolution and Counterculture in Pulp and Popular Fiction, 1950 to 1980. Although Pharr launched his writing career as a novelist with The Book of Numbers (1969) when he was already a fifty-three-years-old, it was his autobiographical follow-up, S.R.O., that remains a favorite. A sorrowful novel that takes place at a Harlem single-room occupancy hotel, the S.R.O. was the true heart of darkness where drug addicts, drunks, whores, thieves and other losers disappeared from the world. Pharr writes about the ugly beauty of the S.R.O. with both disgust and passion.

source: https://afropunk.com/2019/11/afropunk-10-revolutionary-black-reads/

Enemies of Afrika

May the devil make a ladder of your backbone 

while you are picking apples in the garden of hell!

May all Afrika’s enemies grow so rotten that 

goats, skunks and pigs refuse to be near you!

May you be turned into a sparrow and owe 

your existence to the dropping of horses.

May all your teeth fall out but one and may

 

that one give you a toothache.

Afrika is not a hunting ground for alien

ambitions.

Let it be done as it is written in OAU

Charter, resurrection of Afrika’s spirit 

need our collective activism in authority.

I am the son of KUSH,

Afrika was born in me.

Afrika the land of our forefathers..

Sons & daughters we did not inherit

Afrika, we borrowed Afrika from our 

children, our children will borrow this 

wonderful land from theirs.

 

Muzuvukile Sompeta Xolo

Prison Radio Commentaries

Trents Freedom Walk
(1:42)
Mumia Abu-Jamal

If I Were A Rich White Kid
(2:53)
Dontie Mitchell

Kim Kardashian West: The People’s Champ
(3:38)
Dontie Mitchell

Should The U.S. Adopt a New Flag?
(5:09)
Jason Goudlock

Big Pharma: Big Money = No Blame
(3:09)
Mumia Abu-Jamal

The Money Scheme
(3:59)
Omar Aski-Ali

The Commisary at Red Onion State Prison 
(2:08)
Gerald McNabb

After 9/11
(2:24)
Mumia Abu-Jamal