Sag.
How do I hold my temper, keeping my grace, and not become bitter, stuck in this infamous place? I remember even at seven, I dreamed of a better place, in a better race.
Stuck in this infamous place without a trace, only the history of misery and indentured slavery. I pledge no allegiance to this flag, and free, I let my pants sag.
I’m a little Black boy sold. Taken from his mother’s bosom and sold. While the old ones still linked to Africa kill the white ones with their heads down and eyes closed.
Stuck in this infamous place without a trace, only a history of misery and indentured slavery. I pledge no allegiance to this flag, and free, I let my pants sag.
I am John Lennon who spoke of one race in the one place. I am mother Teresa, who came for death row, unafraid of any. I am Martin Luther King Jr. shot down on the balcony in the midst of his dream. I am Malcolm X betrayed by the beastly and burnt, surreptitiously.
Stuck in this infamous place without a trace, with only a history of misery and indentured slavery. I pledge no allegiance to this flag, and free, I let my pants sag.
I am the one not mentioned in your Constitution as human. Not allowed to vote until it made no difference. Job is just a 2,003-year-old metaphor. The true warrior was a slave, and John Brown, the true hero of the brave. I am Emmett Till hung from an old, beautiful Southern Willow tree.
Stuck in this infamous place without a trace. With only a history of misery and indentured slavery. I pledge no allegiance to this flag and free, I let my pants sag.
(Sound of a cell door closing.) These commentaries are recorded by Noelle Hanrahan of Prison Radio.
