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