Black Boy Mothers Blues

Insensitive racist minds sabotage
The existence of humanity calling for insanity
In a time of black shrines in the hand of the Devine
Whose dreams were shattered hopes scattered
But to most people it never really mattered
Because in the midst of poverty there is no equality
Only eyes filled with tears knowing heartache is near
Because police brutality has become the reality
How do we scream for Louima and Faison?
What can we do for Crew and Amadu?
I’m talking about the black boy mother’s blues
The black boy mother’s blues…

What are the odds that in this lifetime
You can walk the streets and count the shrines
Dedicated to those whose lives have ceased
Caught up in the war of these mean streets
A mother’s son shot dead by the police
Will she ever find relief from the beast in the streets? Nah!
Only through the hand of God above
Is her spirit and soul restored
From the devastating blow that you and I both know
Is a harsh reality to a violent mentality
R.I.P. may they rest in peace
To be raised in power in these darkest of hours

One man shot forty one times
A mural on the wall has become his shrine
What can we do for Amadu gunned down by the men in blue?
Why? Because he took out a wallet
And in their racist haste one more life has gone to waste…
As have so many others like Stanton Crew
Earl Faison maced in the face of
Racial profiling corruption and greed
All signs in a time when the police must be
Losing their minds while inflicting pain
It’s a wonder more black mothers haven’t gone insane…

It’s the black boy mother’s blues…

R.I.P. may they rest in peace…
Her son’s access to opportunity denied
Swallowed up in lies
And in retaliation to a racist nation
Drugs are now king in this ring
And minds are doomed to be tuned
Into self annihilation and obliteration
Her son trapped like a slave
In a way of existence
That requires little resistance
And where police brutality has become their reality
How do we scream for Louima and Faison?
What can we do for Crew and Amadu?

Latinos, Arabs, Muslims, South Asians
Minorities are treated brutally by the police of this nation
Anthony Baez 1994
Died from a chokehold outside his door
Anthony Rosario shot in the back
It’s open season on minorities and blacks
Jerome Johnson sixteen died from mistaken identity
And it seems that many of the police
In spite of the tragedy of 9/11
Continue to brutalize minorities 24/7
What about Johnny Gammage killed
In the still of a Pittsburg night?

Voices from the dead seek release
No justice no peace…no justice no peace
Is the rallying cry to incite recognition
Of the plight of minority males and their condition
For in the scales of justice there is an imbalance
And consequently never an assurance
For those living in urban environments
Nicholas Heyward age thirteen gunned down
in 1993 in New York City
And in 1997 a young man named Patrick Bailey
murdered at the hands of one of the police gestapo
who later went on to gun down Amadu Diallo

Over 2000 lives have been lost
And in some cases reparation has been sought
Yet the attitudes of the police remain impenitent
And their approach to blacks and minorities quite combatant
Yet the invincible people with raised voices cry
No justice no peace…no justice no peace
How do we scream for Louima and Faison?
What can we do for Crew and Amadu?
We can take up the cry against injustice
We can pray for a country embroiled in hypocrisy
That the Spirit of Truth will set us all free
From a violent mentality that is our reality!

R.I.P. may they rest in peace
Amadou Diallo…Earl Faison…Johnny Gammage
Stanton Crew…Anthony Baez…
Anthony Rosario…Jerome Johnson…
Gideon Busch…Nicholas Heyward…
Patrick Bailey…and the thousands of other men
and women who for lack of time cannot be named
Yet are victims to the reality of police brutality…
And a special prayer for Abner Louima and all the others
who lived to tell about the hell
at the hands of those police who bring shame to the name
of those who are dedicated to upholding justice and doing what’s right….

R.I.P. may they rest in peace
To be raised in power in these darkest of hours
It’s the black boy bother’s blues….
I’m talking about the black boy mother’s blues…