The Landscape Should Belong To The People

When I Die, The Consciousness I Carry I Will To Black People. May They Pick Me Apart And Take The Useful Parts, The Sweet Meat Of My Feelings. And Leave The Bitter Bullshit Rotten White Parts Alone.

From The Slave Ship To The Citizenship We Faced A Lot Of Bullship

What Will Be / The Sacred Words?

I Am Inside Someone Who Hates Me. I Look Out From His Eyes.

In America, Black Is A Country.