Pick up his pieces and mend back history,
Create riots an’ force Authority to hand in,
An’ I mean: Hand in the guns that are killing our children
I say: Let’s scream. Let’s break. Let’s burn
Let’s stand up. Let’s unite. Let’s fight.
White an’ blue lining, Red lights shinning
Here ride the Popo, 5-0, the terror squad
‘Stop or I’ll shoot’.
The suspect freezes and throws his hands
In submission, while he turns around…
Officer puts up his .38 gun
*Click Clack Bang*
Head pierced with a bullet
Red wine splashed all over the cement
Christ’s blood, as he weeps the death of his son…
Sinuous rivers of blood,
Embarrassing the crowd…
This is November 11
Nineteen eight seven
Around 5:30 AM…
A few minutes ago, Anthony jumped a cab,
Resisting arrest, Popo said he tried to run…
11:45 AM… Doctors pronounced him DEAD.
19years old…Boy was nuttin’ but a child
Not an accident, his death was a legal execution
The trial was an act itself
Theatre: Lawyers & judges, all actors
Plotting to confuse the murdered child’s family,
An’ appease the angry black community…
Popo officer acquitted in this murder trial…
‘Let’s try to bury this,
His Mother was assigned 27 000$
‘For the loss of her son’
Is that today’s price of a black man’s life?
A way of saying:’ Sorry for the inconvenience, Maa’m.’
Have a good day.’
She carried him for 9 months in her womb
He suckled at his Mama’s breast…
Flesh of her flesh, Blood of her blood
Did she ever think, that she would live
To plan the burial of her child?
19 years old: HER son
His last Memory…
Cement & Blood.
The bullet of a .38 gun.