byron henderson - fubu. lyrics
[verse: byron henderson]
dreams gleam, but realities scream
black souls caught in a whirlwind, scramble in the regime
see, it’s more than just a dream deferred, it’s an actual scheme
generational trauma, our battle scars, extreme
from the cotton fields to the projects, our history’s stained
by the blood of our ancestors, their struggles remain
in the shadows of oppression, we struggle to maintain
though the system was made broken, look how our chains hang
police sirens wail, another brother slain
injustice prevails, as we’re left to endure the pain hands up, don’t shoot, yet we’re targeted once again the cycle repeats, it’s like a never+ending game
they’re beaming with pride screaming “america, the beautiful”, for who though?
land of the free, but for us, just a new rope
from redlining to mass incarceration, the status quo black lives matter, but evolution is too slow
politicians spew rhetoric, promises hollow
while black communities continue to drown in the sorrow
we tried to build, just to be met with arrows, ammo, bombs, slurs
advancement sabotaged, pills were previously hard to swallow
but no longer, immunity built through addiction
got to get your fix in
devil ain’t missing much with reserving ditches, if you can dig it
how are you building trust with a mouth full of lies when unmarked graves keep on filling up
ain’t hard to keep finding out you’re complicit, meri
jimmy’s silhouette lingers, strangling hope with twisted fingers
paint pictures of progress, but the truth’s a stinger
from tuskegee to the ghetto, poison deep as the roots
trauma passed like heirlooms, a legacy of loot
it’s the ghost of pain’s past, still pray to the same mast
hymns from the whips and chains, echoes of our stained past
way back when they shattered dreams, scattered teams, we cling fast
to the god of our captors, in the shadows we chase cash, yeah
from the cotton fields to the modern maze
slaves to the promises of presidents in empty praise
hollow hopes delivered through a silver gaze
america’s chorus sung through centuries of malaise
they whisper in hushed tones, the legacy untold
shadows patrolling the block like the stories that unfold
behind bars, in scars, rare highs and dumb lows
mental chains, hidden pains clearly only some know
in the black night, trapped, i fight with these ghosts
echoes of my past, future slips from third to beast coast
burden heavy, mind’s steady, lost in the grind
sanity’s a lost treasure no one helped us find
generations deep, we sowed seeds of resilience
harvested the strength, although there’s cracks in the brilliance
voices in my head like a symphony of stress
dancing with depression, life’s a twisted game of chess
knights fall, bishops crumble, king is in distress
while the p+wns march on through the ghetto’s duress
survive on hope, and thrive on pride
egos collide, so there’s barely signs of life outside
mind’s racing, heavy load, soul pacing in the hood, wodie
pockets light but them burdens ain’t understood
generations buried deep, we weep where the soil’s cracked
prayers for relief from the grief, how we toil back
haunted by the ghosts of the past, they speak loud
chains invisible, solitude what i seek now
silent screams in our veins, pain like a hurricane
invisible rain overflows like levees in our brains
exhausted chasing dreams while we wrestle with the nightmares
therapy rare, and struggles of life never fight fair
fists in the air, protest just to breathe again
but at what cost when the cost is to bleed again?
voice of the voiceless, echo through the ages
in the heart of the struggle, flip the script, and turn the pages
from the slave ships’ cargo, shackles and cages
to the frontlines of justice, where the real war rages
rhyme like a molotov, burn through the silence
words ignite the spirit saying rise against the violence
dead presidents mean just as much as the live ones, nothing
unite for tragedies, but what happens without them, mm
spitting fire, truth sire, spark the darkest hour
from the ashes of the past, manifesting power
lyrics like a scythe, cut the weeds of deceit
til the fruits of liberation lay ripe at our feet
we resurrect the spirits of those lost and denied
the rhythm of resistance in the heart of the mind
climbing from the abyss, with our heart as the guide
in the garden of resilience where the roses are confined
started with the mirror, staring into my reflection
acknowledging my flaws, can’t ignore the imperfections
got to dig deeper, past the surface, introspection
confronting all my demons, seeking spiritual protection, ugh
so, let’s embark on a journey of the soul
where i strip down, dissect and make myself whole
never trade your inner peace for some monetary wealth
aim to better you for u, even it’s by urself
[outro: byron henderson, marina esmeralda]
do you ever feel like you’re just rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship?
all the time. all the time. often, people will treat you like you’re wrong or you’re crazy even if what you’re saying is supported by facts. and don’t let you be younger than them. ugh. they’re more worried about eradicating g+y and trans people than they are about that weird relative or friend they keep around their kids
mm. all this insatiable violence towards women makes me want to flash out. all these parents with incestuous relationships raising their kids to be their husbands and wives because they can’t keep a man or woman their age, but they’re worried about someone else?
oh my god. right? that’s so weird! question though. what’s the real reason you don’t have any guy friends? i know part of it is because you just aren’t a naturally competitive person, but
because ain’t none of them turning their rapist homeboys in
you’re so right
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