Behind the 8-Ball Echo the Drawl

Pay attention when I'm talkin' to ya, boy. This bat - I say, this bat don't come from a cave.

Whatcha doin’ there, boy? Turn around; let me see.
I need to make sure you’re not up to no good.
Do it nice and slow like you do everything.
Any quick move – I just might take a swing.
I’m the bird on patrol in your neighborhood.
Don’t forget who’s watchin’ ya, boy. It’s me!

My job is to keep your kind under control.
Though don’t quote me on that. When I stutter you can.
But if I were you, I’d just keep my mouth shut.
Your complainin’s what’s keepin’ your race in a rut.
Don’t talk back to me, boy. Don’t you understand?
It’s my big mouth and ego who’s on patrol.

There’s no way I’m puttin’ my life on the line.
If you so much as flinch wrong, you’re goin’ to jail.
My patrol car is runnin,’ and my lights I’ll keep blinkin,’
All the better to get your black asses to thinkin’
If you whoop ass with me, my wrath will prevail,
And if you end up dyin,’ with that, I’m just fine.

There’s no problem with race in my neck of the woods.
I keep a tight watch on black life that I see.
After all, black lives matter. Ain’t that what y’all say?
To me, that means screwing you day after day.
If I go to jail, in no time I’ll be free
To resume my pursuing young black men with hoods.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *