Imagine That
There you go again,
Mr. Ain’t My Uncle Sam,
stepping on my feet
Then telling me the pain I feel
is all in my head
Just us black folk giving life
to our colorful imagination
You say we be trying to avoid working instead
That we just be lazy bones,
who don’t like getting out of bed
But who in their right mind
wanna put their foot on the ground,
knowing they gonna get their feet stepped on
Then being told that the pain you feel,
it ain’t real,
it’s just imaginary ... it’s all in your head
Fairy tales made up
by a people that like sleeping instead
of working and working
Mr. Ain’t My Uncle Sam
says he gotta keep a close eye on people like me
He gotta get closer, invade my privacy ...
so close in fact, he always be stepping on my feet
Yet the pain I feel, he says is all in my head
Just imaginary duress made up,
welfare daydreams to avoid having to work
He says, we love to sit around, holding out a cup
Kicking our feet up, so they don’t get stepped on
I tell you the sleepy-eyed truth ...
We black folk been mass hallucinating a long time:
we been seeing walking white sheets,
and voodoo burning crosses that creep
Ghostly lynchings we peep in our sleep
We dreamed of being shipped to plantation ghettos
like sardines packed
We dreamed of going to prison for life
for committing the crime of being black
Maybe one day we’ll wake up ...
Imagine that!
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017
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