Stir It

We claim to be a mixing pot Of Blacks and Browns and Blues, Of yellows, reds and oranges All different kinds of hues. They tossed us all into the mix And put the spoon inside. In unison we all cry out Our multi-colored pride. Yes, that is how it's s'posta be They mask it all so well. They simply float "the best" on top And condemn the rest to hell. They shackle us below the dumps To keep us in our place. They talk to us as if we're poo. Not worthy of their race. But yet, tomorrow, when they come, We'll hold the stirring sticks. We'll be the ones to dig way down And put us in the mix. America just means diverse. I hope we all prefer it. Just give the pot to someone else And count on us to stir it.