The world belongs to black people. We are stronger than we know. We can beat anyone, at anything at anytime. Now is the time. Anyone who is not black needs to pay with blood for what was don't to us either directly by their ancestor and them, or by them sitting idly by while we were systematically destroyed. If no one wants to allow us to have a fair shake at every opportunity available, then no one gets nothing and we all die. Execute any nigga hurting the black narrative and helping those who oppressed us. Destroy those agents among us.
For most of us our only crime was having a heartbeat while being black.
All lives matter until it comes to being black. Then, its about let's talk about what was done to deserve this fate.
Yet, no other race of people, any culture of people are seen as a burden on humanity.
No matter if you are black and Brazilian, black and Egyptian , black and american....black and Muslim or black and gay. You are black first.
Your light skin or hazel or natural straight hair don't matter. You are still black first.
And that seems to be crime.
Punishable by however the person sees fit. Even if its death.
Death
Death because of how you are genetically made up.
Death.
Because you like a certain music or wear your hair a certain way.
Death.
Something so final.
Stand up my people.
We owe it to our kids and women.
Our skin color is what they call a burden.
But they are our burden.
An eye for an eye...until they are losing then they want to talk. But if they are not losing and have the advantage....
Death
That's what they want for us.
Death
I end this rant with the red summer poem byClaude McKay , because the way I see it, If we must die ......so must they.
If We Must Die
If we must die—let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die—oh, let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe;
Though far outnumbered, let us still be brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but—fighting back!
