In the interest of national security, please help us carry out our constitutional duty to overthrow the king.
Notes from Winter In America (10/73)
THE BOTTLE
See that Black boy over there, runnin’ scared
his ol’ man’s in a bottle.
He done quit his 9 to 5 to drink full time
so now he’s livin’ in the bottle.
See that Black boy over there, runnin’ scared
his ’ol man got a problem.
Pawned off damn near everything, his ol’
woman’s weddin’ ring for a bottle.
And don’t you think it’s a crime
when time after time, people in the bottle.
See that sista, sho’ wuz fine before she
started drinkin’ wine
from the bottle.
Said her ol’ man committed a crime
and he’s doin’ time,
so now she’s in the bottle.
She’s out there on the avenue, all by herself
sho’ needs help from the bottle.
Preacherman tried to help her out,
she cussed him out and hit him in the head with a bottle.
And don’t you think it’s a crime
when time after time, people in the bottle.
See that gent in the wrinkled suit
he done damn near blown his cool to the bottle.
He wuz a doctor helpin’ young girls along
if they wuzn’t too far gone to have problems.
But defenders of the dollar eagle
Said ‘What you doin’, Doc, it ain’t legal,’
and now he’s in the bottle.
Now we watch him everyday tryin’ to
chase the pigeons away
from the bottle.
And don’t you think it’s a crime
when time after time, people in the bottle.
WHEN YOUR GIRLFRIEND HAS A BETTER FRIEND
Let me give you something straight up my friend
Your whole life can turn super funky
And put a too large foot in your rear end
If you’re digging a dame who’s a junky.
I’m sure I don’t need to take you back down the road
And retell all the details about smack
But believe me it’s still out there breaking the codes
And its ten times worse than cheeba or crack.
And ‘Fuck! How in the world did we come to be friendly?’
And all them other bullshit clichés
And you don’t know what you’da done if you’da been me
Just be glad that there wasn’t no fuckin way.
Okay then, just for a minute let’s both speculate
And since you would be me, I would be you
So now as you (I) can get puffed up and be real fuckin great
About what I (meaning you) should or shouldn’t do.
I can hear it all now knowing just what you’d say
About not hangin’ out in the streets
And immediately we know there ain’t no f’n way
’Cause if it wasn’t no hangin’ out it wasn’t me.
This is gonna sound weak and it ain’t no excuse
But it’s been years since I’d been around scag
And acting self-righteous is the quickest way to lose
And to tell you the truth it’s a drag.
Remembering the shivers and quivers and shakes
Starts to bring the butterflies back to your gut
But junkies don’t care what you think are mistakes
She says ‘Are you givin’ up the money or what?’
You can climb in the pulpit for a sermon or two
Keep your money and watch while she packs
But you know more than precisely what she’s gonna do
Go for twenty somewhere lying on her back
Or end up in an alley trying to turn a quick trick
Pushers don’t care how the money is made
And when the addict starts getting uptight for a fix
They say ‘Fuck gonorrhea and fuck A.I.D.S!’
In the end it ain’t theories or jive-ass philosophy
Or what the papers or politicians think
And nobody needs no more heroin (methadone) sociology
While the speaker pours himself another drink.
So you’re right. Congratulations on what was weak about me
I admit I look like somebody’s flunky
But right ain’t always the best thing to be
When the girl that you love is a junky.
PIECES OF A MAN
Jagged jigsaw pieces
Tossed about the room
I saw my Grandma sweeping
With her old straw broom
But she didn’t know what she was doing
coz she was really sweeping up
Pieces of a Man.
I saw my Daddy meet the Mailman
And I heard the Mailman say
‘Now don’t you take this letter too hard now, Jimmy,
coz they’ve laid off nine others today.’
But he didn’t know what he was saying
He could hardly understand
That he was only talking to
Pieces of a Man.
I saw the thunder and heard the lightning
And felt the burden of his shame
And for some unknown reason
He never turned my way
Pieces of that letter
Were tossed about the room
And now I hear the sound of sirens
Come knifing through the gloom
But they don’t know what they are doing
They could hardly understand
That they’re only arresting …
Pieces of a Man.
I saw him go to pieces
He was always such a good man
He was always such a strong, strong man!
Yeah, I saw him go to pieces
I saw him go to pieces
… mid-winter
There is a revolution going on in America/the World; a shifting in the winds/vibrations, as disruptive as an actual earth-tremor, but it is happening in our hearts.
There is a revolution going on in America/the World; a change as swift as blackening skies when the rains come, as fresh and clear as the air after the rain. We need change.
The seeds of this revolution were planted hundreds of years ago; in slave ships, in cotton fields, in tepees, in the souls of brave men. The seeds were watered, nurtured and bloom now in our hands as we rock our babies.
It is mid-winter in America; a man-made season of shattered dreams and shocked citizens, fumbling and frustrated beneath the crush of greed of corporate monsters and economic manipulators gone wild. There are bitter winds born in the knowledge of secret plans hatched by Western Money Men that backfired and grew out of control to eat its own.
We must support ourselves and stand fast together even as pressure disperses our enemies and bangs at our doors. No one can do everything, but everybody can do something. We must all do what we can for each other to weather this blizzard.
Now more than ever all the family must be together; to comfort, to protect, to guide, to survive because … there is a revolution going on in America/the World.
Notes from First Minute of a New Day (1/75)
SMALL TALK AT 125TH AND LENOX
Tell me:
Did’ja ever eat corn bread an’ black-eyed peas?
Or watermelon and mustard greens?
Get high as you can on Saturday night
and then go to church on Sunday to set things right?
Listen:
‘I seen Miz Blake after Willie yesterday.
She’d a killed anybody who’d a got in her way!
Hey look! I got a tv for a pound on the head.
Jimmy Gene got the bes’ Panamanian Red.
No, I a
in’t got on no underclothes,
But the Hawk got to get through this Gypsy Rose!
I think Clay got his very good points.
You say a trey bag wit’ thirteen joints?
Who cares if LBJ is in town?
Up with Stokely an’ H. Rap Brown!
I dunno if the riots is wrong,
But Whitey been kickin’ my ass fo’ too long.
I wuz s’pose to baby but they hel’ my pay.
Did you hear what the number wuz yesterday?
Junkies is all right when they ain’t broke.
They leaves you alone when they high on dope.
Damn, but I wish I could get up an’ move!
Shut up, hell, you know that ain’t true.’
PAINT IT BLACK
Picture a man of nearly thirty
who seems twice as old with clothes torn and
dirty.
Give him a job shining shoes
or cleaning out toilets with bus station crews.
Give him six children with nothing to eat.
Expose them to life on a ghetto street.
Tie an old rag around his wife’s head and
have her pregnant and lying in bed.
Stuff them all in a Harlem house.
Then tell them how bad things are down South.
BRIDGING
I thought I saw last night
across a ridge,
an ebony bridge that spanned all chasms from
Harlem to Home.
African!
Zimbabwe with apartheid still.
Kenya, prove the Black man’s will.
Biafra, the division is not yet killed.
African!
Queen’s English, manners so defined
Wardrobe styled and dignified
Darker skin and no Tarzan smile.
Afro-American!
Handshake and dashikis too
James Brown doin’ the soul boogaloo
People starving with nothing to do.
Afro-American!
Idolizing TV-man
Capitalism’s also-ran
Colloquialism’s cool man.
African! From the continent
Afro-Americans! From the discontent
Brothers! Can we not implement
a bit of faith?
a bit of love?
For we are all truly brothers
From the womb of mother same
From the genesis we were one
Let us be one, once again.
ALIEN
Midnight near the border
Tryin’ to cross the Rio Grande
Runnin’ with coyotes to
Where the streets are paved with gold.
You’re diving underwater
When you hear the helicopters
Knowing it’s all been less than worthless
(If you meet) the border patrol
Hiding in the shadows
So scared that you want to scream
But you dare not make a sound
If you want to hold on to your dreams.
Hold on! It may not be a lot
Hold on!’ Cause you know it’s all you’ve got
No matter the consequences
Or the fear that grips your senses
You have got to hold on to your dreams.
City of the Angels
With its bright light fascination
Only adds to the confusion
That your mind must now endure.
The ‘Gringos’ take advantage
When they know that you’re illegal
But you avoid La Policia
Like a plague that can’t be cured.
Paying the ‘mordida’
Lets you know what ‘pollos’ means
But you dare not file complaints
If you want to hold on to your dreams.
Hold on! It may not be a lot
Hold on!’ Cause you know it’s all you’ve got
No matter the consequences
Or the fear that grips your senses
You have got to hold on to your dreams.
Down at Western Union
Sending cash back to your family
Or drinking down ‘cervezas’
Where the lights are very low
Your mind may start to wander
When you think about your village
Or the woman that you love so much
Who’s still in Mexico.
At just two bucks an hour
There is little to redeem (this life)
Except that in your mind
You’ve got to hold on to your dreams
Hold on! It may not be a lot
Hold on!’ Cause you know it’s all you’ve got
No matter the consequences
Or the fear that grips your senses
You have got to hold on to your dreams.
JOHANNESBURG
What’s the word?
Tell me brother, have you heard
from Johannesburg?
What’s the word?
Sister/woman have you heard
from Johannesburg?
They tell me that our brothers over there
are defyin’ the Man.
We don’t know for sure because the news we
get is unreliable, man.
Well I hate it when the blood starts flowin’,
but I’m glad to see resistance growin’.
Somebody tell me what’s the word?
Tell me brother, have you heard
from Johannesburg?
They tell me that our brothers over there
refuse to work in the mines.
They may not get the news but they need to know
we’re on their side.
Now sometimes distance brings
misunderstanding,
but deep in my heart I’m demanding:
Somebody tell me what’s the word?
Sister/woman have you heard
’bout Johannesburg?
I know that their strugglin’ over there
ain’t gonna free me,
but we all need to be strugglin’
if we’re gonna be free.
Don’t you wanna be free?
THE VULTURE
Standing in the ruins of another Black man’s life,
Or flying through the valley separating day and
night.
‘I am death,’ cried the Vulture. ‘For the people
of the light.’
Charon brought his raft from the sea that sails
on souls,
And saw the scavenger departing, taking warm
hearts to the cold.
He knew the ghetto was the haven for the
meanest creature ever known.
In a wilderness of heartbreak and a desert of
despair,
Evil’s clarion of justice shrieks a cry of naked
terror.
Taking babies from their mamas and leaving
grief beyond compare.
So if you see the Vulture coming, flying circles in
your mind,
Remember there is no escaping for he will
follow close behind.
Only promise me a battle, battle for your soul
and mine.
THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT BE TELEVISED
You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop
out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on scag and
skip out for beer during commercials because
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you
by Xerox in four parts without commercial
interruption.
The revolution will not show you pictures of
Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by
John Mitchell, General Ab
ramson and Spiro
Agnew to eat hog maws confiscated from a
Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by
The Schaeffer Award Theatre and will not star
Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle
and Julia?
The revolution will not give your mouth sex
appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five
pounds thinner.
The revolution will not be televised, brother.
There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mae
pushing that shopping cart down the block on
the dead run
or trying to slide that color tv in a stolen
ambulance.
NBC will not be able to predict the winner at
8:32 on reports from twenty-nine districts.
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers
on the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers
on the instant replay.
The will be no slow motion or still lifes of Roy
Wilkins strolling through Watts in a red, black
and green liberation jumpsuit that he has been
saving for just the proper occasion.
Green Acres, Beverly Hillbillies and Hooterville
Junction
will no longer be so damned relevant
and women will not care if Dick finally got down
with Jane
on Search for Tomorrow
because black people will be in the streets