To a "Nigga" on 8th and H Street

He staggers and stumbles,

relating these words he mumbles,

before he tumbles down,

I can't understand it,

it should be reprimanded,

that a nigga' be f--d around.


I listen in wonder,

as I begin to ponder,

the words He has avowed,

although, I can comprehend it,

it should be amended,

and those words never spoken aloud.


He has become so disgusted,

and his self-hood so rusted,

that he labels himself this way,

Man find strength in your sinew,

To discover the power within you,

And edit those words you say.


In a bottle you place hope,

The Lord is not in the dope,

surging through your veins,

the bottle holds you bound,

enslaved and beaten down,

and a slave you'll remain.


'Less you learn that nigga's are nonexistent,

a name the race was christened,

on a slave ship long ago,

surely we have outgrown it,

for never truly did we own it,

but were chained to it by a mocking foe.


You find it nonessential,

to rediscover your stolen potential,

and replace what was taken away,

For once we were Kings,

building empires for our Queens,

and it's time to recover the day.


So don't mumble, speak louder,

You are black be prouder,

and get up off the ground,

If you want respect demand it,

You're not a nigga' don't be branded,

then you won't ever be f--d around.

Victori © 1982