I was born with the race card
According to some inhumans
Black power was never skin colour
Sus laws and Edgar Hoovers
Set the tone for my mother’s mother
My father’s father took the bruises
I was born to a game of measures
I suppose my first words were excuses
The race card I never signed, played for me.
You expect me to thank you?
Doesn’t the devil exist?
Black and white stripes aren’t even half the pack of this race card mess.
Is it really a Race Card?
Or is it a gag, a muffler.
Is the code for silence, when it impinges on comfort?
I was told at aged 7 by a white headmistress,
“Just to be average, you blacks have to work twice as hard”
Damn, I just got stamped and handed my race card!
I should build up some credit.
You’ll only teach the 5% of my history that implies to you I’m indebted.
Then I’ll spend the rest of my life fact checking.
There’s just something about the way they use it to abuse you
Like it’s your first and only line of defence.
Before they learn the N word it’s, Miss…he’s playing the race card again!
Micro chipped, programme to speak on it every other day of the week.
Is the race card simply a construct where the foundations are too deep.
Was I really born with it in my system or was it the system’s cordial
Something they can keep drinking to make me look primordial.