Vernacular

They say great minds think alike
Well I wanna know who thinks like me

Who doesn’t think my vernacular is just slang

And my brain half mass

I mean half dead

Some people see me

And can’t look past the color of my skin

Don’t see that I’m smart

Just that I’m black

And my hair got naps

So I get fed up and

I – I apologize Mas ’a

Oh Lordy, Lordy I’ll never do it again.

Please no more whips from your snide tongue

Because your vernacular

Isn’t as good

As you pretend it to be

Some old white people think they’re better than me

I believe in equality

Freedom!

The same my people and some of yours fought for

Without that

We wouldn’t be where we are today

You judge me

And somehow my dark skin

Equates with an empty head

My head’s too light,

Label me airhead
Matter of fact,

Sacred

And after death,

Beloved

Taste the sweetness of my work

Ambrosia

Label me a genius
Taste the personality of me

And label me a mystery

But don’t brandish me

Like I was one of your slaves in the past