Part III

I have a sharp mind and a sharp tongue
But only one
Will cut you out of emotion
And it probably has once or twice, I have a notion
And for that I'm sorry.
Some tears actually froze, off the tip of my nose
And became ice. And the ice became daggers
So I keep them staggered
As ammunition.
Better ammunition than an al Qaeda mission
Or the civil mob of al Shabaab insurgents in Somalia
Civil civilians by the millions
Killed. I mean how can you call a war...
Civil. Or
Holy. Take your land
Your religion but then what do you really
Have?
Or what about the war against the people? The silent war
Against the people, who won't keep their mouths shut anymore
Isn't stealing jobs the same as stealing money from pockets
Or launching rockets
To destroy a nation, that might have had a chance
To help itself further advance
Yes Mr. President, Mr. Prime Minister
You let your people kill
Your people. Fight
Your battles for you--so you won't have too. Might
You be saying your blood is worth more
Than the blood they spill from each other or
For the people...by the people?
Your greed makes me sick
I spit on the ground take mud and smear it
Across your face you disgust me
A disgrace...to all
You're just as bad as the owners who called their slaves n-ggers
Then blamed it on a race
To the finish line.
And today in this hour we uncover the power
Whose hands spilled the blood, before a hot shower
And tried to bury it
Deeper than the corpse of the people
Who carried it.

See my problem is I start to write
And I keep writing
Long after the men in the street stop fighting
But my fingers won't.
They decide the length of this ride when
My emotions subside but usually
They don't.
They keep writing. They tell the story that won't
Come out of the mouths of the kids who can't tell me why
They flinch when I brush by
The trouble is now Mwafrican, that means I'm African
Even more than my language or skin that I'm in
Kuja me child and sema your story
She called me I listened I told her my story
Say what you want but Africa knows
More than your words that you speak cause it shows
But she doesn't.
She's tough but she cries. You'll see her real tears in deception
And lies.
In girls on the street, 11 years old
Prostituting themselves just so they can eat
And you let them. Just sit on your throne watch from your seat
Mr. Prime Minister, Mr. President
Dry Africa's tears and she'll dry yours.

See my problem is I start to write
And I keep writing
I have a sharp mind and sharp tongue
But only one
Will cut you out of emotion.