What Is It Like To Be Black

What is like to be black, my sisters and brothers? To live in a nation where skin color makes you another. This nation was consummated by a racist constitution, Drafted by troglodytes touting themselves as a just institution. How can we use their two-century old piece of decay, To decide on what our rights and freedoms must be today? Slaveholders created this hypocritical country, Which pretends to be a land full of the happy and free. On the news I see the murder of men by the police, Who monitor us and kill with racist and prejudice caprice. We're sick hostages to the armed with this Stockholm Syndrome, Loving our captors who keep us trapped in this imaginary home. Maybe I am mistaken, or maybe I'm just lazy, But as a white man I feel that to think I'm free is crazy. Plants and sex are policed by the powers we pay for, To arrest harmless false criminals locked behind barred doors. Our prisons hold the majority of the world's incarcerated victims, Who were kidnapped by the petty, petulant, power-mad, and fearsome. So what is like to be black in the land of the free, my dear sisters and brothers, Where your skin has become crime under the law by which we're all smothered?