From the song, “The Revelator.” by Daniel Imburgia.

“I don't even call it violence when it's in self defense; I call it intelligence.”  Malcolm X

Banjos, bangles, and lynching trees
Blood sausage and collard greens
Dark shapes flit across our screens
Whitey’s bull horn cuts the screams

Moon shines and dropped dimes
Gassy tears tear tare these times
For whom do these death bells chime
The poets of hip-hop rhyme-crimes

Duck calls and cotton balls
Dred Scott in his hoodie falls
Beloved Sethe haunts shopping malls
Where justice rolls like cannon balls

If the crack is how the light got in
Then the devil followed right behind him
The chosen peoples have god as kin
Bluest eye twins and alabaster skin-sins

Man, if you gotta ask you'll never know
Just how much you really owe
Those invisible men y’all kept stowed
For their sweat and blood and furrowed rows

This cracker thief who steals your words
And covered songs of cloistered birds
All those cries that went unheard
The fire hose and snarling curs

‘War, war, and Fiddle dee dee’
We hold these sacred truths to be
As holy as those hung from trees, or
Crucified between two thieves

Obliged.