The Wall
Cradle block foundation, the tower of achievement
Black man chest be the beat, drum feast of success
Strike be the dead voice of unspoken ghost of mine man
Shoulder strap be the award, street crown, a man
like a poor man’s grave no one to read or clean
Silver spoon, in Somalia kids be the charging plea
looking back at the freedom and I thought to myself
“Life’s fiction is going to stay till revolution is televised”
Only thing left for black man is to fight the wall
that don’t allow the change to penetrate
