I am so tired of living among a passion-less people
So exhausted, so full of excuses
of why they don’t have time to
or don’t have the energy to
Can’t fit the struggle into their schedule of Pilates classes,
after work affairs and the nine to five
Complaining about the lack of, the need for
and their people being so poor
Can’t wait to put down their fellow-man, their president and the unending war
What my brother, my sister are you fighting for?
Is it the last seat on the bus?
The most popular item at Toys R Us?
The raise that’s been denied you for years
or just fighting to hold back your tears because of the bonuses that were given to your peers?
What are you fighting for?
I wish I could go back and live among the passionate folks
before our community was numbed with pipes full of dope
and silenced behind bars where our men are afraid to pick up the soap
with women like Angela Davis who feared no one
And the Black Panther Party protected every young black son
No one sat around waiting for assistance
We fought for justice, excited by its resistance
Black play writes brought home Tonys
and didn’t settle for gospel-comedy baloney
What are we fighting for?
Our babies are dying in the street
and we’re afraid to stand up on our own two feet
Too afraid that they’ll keep on killing?
Hell, they shot Martin, Malcolm, Treyvon and Lincoln
We’re letting our children get abused
wasting our money on liquor and more concerned about the right pair of shoes.
What the hell are we fighting for?
It’s nice you donate to the poor
Cause you’re making millions off of them buying your CD while you’re turning them away from you door
Is there room in your mansion for ten more, senor?
Then why hire them as maids when you could teach them to do so much more
Tell me Mister Mogul – who are you fighting for?
Taking money from our community so you can walk hand in hand with the Barbie doll you purchased from the store
Tired of all the talk and no action
I remember the days sleeping on a cold concrete step, risking my Ivy League education for South Africa’s poor
An education that most can’t even afford to get anymore
So many poets talk of change and raising us up
But when are we gonna do more?
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