Frist Lessons

Son I love you That’s why I’m telling you this To protect you You’re a black boy I can only give you advice on this I’m sorry That I have to tell you about mirandas Instead of reading you bedtime stories I’m sorry I have to read you your rights Before saying goodnight The police are supposed to be Our neighborhood watch Zimmerman might have a Badge this time Behind the voice In his head saying It’s okay to Pull the trigger I’m only standing my ground We watch them as they watch us Caught in a never ending staring contest Watching pupils, with intensity Of his next move With his finger on the trigger Son I’m gonna tell it like it is Your skin Makes you a target In the United States In a shooting gallery Where targets aren’t Red circles But black dots Son You’re a black dot My black dot In this shooting gallery I have to keep you safe Your hand is just as close To your wallet As theirs to their holsters Move slowly Arms Handcuffs Holster They expect you to make a mistake Don’t smile, they might think you’re lying Don’t sweat they might think you’re nervous Nervous means guilty Guilty means cuffs And Miranda before bedtime stories Now I lay me down to sleep You have the right to remain silent I pray the lord my soul to keep Anything you say can will be used against you And if I die before I wake You have the right to an attorney I pray the lord my soul to take We live in a world Where the people Should be protecting us But they take us off the world As much as they keep us on it The battle is center stage Innocent Amadou Diallo 41 shots Innocent Sean Bell 50 shots Innocent Flint Farmer 16 shots Innocent Black men will always be lynched But they stop using ropes A long time ago Oscar Gant 1 shot Innocent He was supposed to take his daughter to Chuck E. Cheese He was riding the train home The police pulled him and his boys off the train And put a hole in his back I wish you still treasured the 1st amendment like you do the second We re-pin Chicago As the center of A shooting gallery Called the United States Revolution is open caskets I hear too many church bells Calling for dead bodies Arms Handcuffs Holster Arms Handcuffs Holster Son, promise me You’ll never have to dance To that beat