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lyrics

Grenades in their eyes
Death is their prize
Peace will arise
Destroy the lies
There are bombs standing on the corners of the cities
Waiting to explode at the slightest touch
Baggy shadow street boys stand cocked
Ready to fire
Their eyes are grenades
And the pin is about to be pulled
BOOM!
The brother went off
Pressure pulled the trigger
And the brother became a nigger
No one could figure out how it happened
What went wrong
He had a chance
Somebody even loved him
Told him he was better than most
But the brother went off
Chains rattled inside his brain
And his sky was filled with clouds
That didn’t even bring rain
Just the illusion that something was coming
So he became a gun
That he could hide in a jacket
And make believe he had an erection all the time
He could penetrate anything
His tongue was a curse
His attitude was a bullet
And he’d shoot you down
Without a second thought

(Chorus)

So he became G.I. JOE
Killing his family not the enemy
A human gun
Made and manufactured
In the united snakes of America
There are bombs standing
On the corners of the cities
Waiting to explode at the slightest touch
Baggy shadow street boys stand cocked
Ready to fire
Their eyes are grenades
They are warriors
Looking for a rite of passage
They are young lions
Enchanted by the sound of their roar
They are diamonds
Treated like worthless stones
They are rivers
With nowhere to run
They are dreams unfulfilled
Desires buried in the remains
Of an abandoned soul
They are the beauty of Spring
Blinded by the snow storms of winter
Soon they will see their beauty
Their strength. Their love
And like the rivers flow into the sea
They will Unite as one
Then our voice will be more powerful than a gun
And when we speak
We’ll get things done

credits

from Transcending Toxic Times, released May 10, 2019

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The Last Poets New York, New York

This Wind You Hear Is The Birth Of Memory. When The Moment Hatches In Time’s Womb, There Will Be No Art Talk. The Only Poem You Will Hear Will Be The Spear Point Pivoted Into The Punctured Marrow Of The Villain, And The Timeless Native Son Dancing Like Crazy To Retrieved Rhythms Of Desire Faded Into Memory. Therefore, We Are The Last Poets Of The World. ... more

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