Gil Scott-Heron

He was groovin'
And that was when he coulda sworn
The room was movin'
But that was only in his mind
He was sailin'
He never really seemed to notice
Vision failin'
'cause that was all part of the high
Sweat was pourin'
He couldn't take it
The room was exploding
He might not make it.

Angel DustPlease, children would you listen.
Angel DustJust ain't where it's at.
Angel DustYou won't remember what you're
Missin', but down some dead end streets
There ain't no turnin' back.

They were standin'
Ev'rybody in a circle,
The whole family
Listening to the preacher's words
Sis was cryin'
She alone held all the secrets
'bout his dyin'
Tears fallin' to earth
Maybe her fault
He was so trusting
God only knew why
They was dustin'!

Angel DustPlease children would you listen.
Angel DustJust ain't where it's at.
Angel DustYou won't remember what you're
Missin', but down some dead end streets
There ain't no turnin' back.

Well, the first thing I want to say isMandate my ass!

Because it seems as though we've been convinced that 26% of the registered voters, not even 26% of the American people, but 26% of the registered voters form a mandate or a landslide. 21% voted for Skippy and 3, 4% voted for somebody else who might have been running.

But, oh yeah, I remember. In this year that we have now declared the year from Shogun to Reagan, I remember what I said about Reaganmeant it. Acted like an actorHollyweird. Acted like a liberal. Acted like General Franco when he acted like governor of California, then he acted like a republican. Then he acted like somebody was going to vote for him for president. And now we act like 26% of the registered voters is actually a mandate. We're all actors in this I suppose.

What has happened is that in the last 20 years, America has changed from a producer to a consumer. And all consumers know that when the producer names the tunethe consumer has got to dance. That's the way it is. We used to be a producer very inflexible at that, and now we are consumers and, finding it difficult to understand. Natural resources and minerals will change your world. The Arabs used to be in the 3rd World. They have bought the 2nd World and put a firm down payment on the 1st one. Controlling your resources we'll control your world. This country has been surprised by the way the world looks now. They don't know if they want to be Matt Dillon or Bob Dylan. They don't know if they want to be diplomats or continue the same policy - of nuclear nightmare diplomacy. John Foster Dulles ain't nothing but the name of an airport now.

The idea concerns the fact that this country wants nostalgia. They want to go back as far as they can even if it's only as far as last week. Not to face now or tomorrow, but to face backwards. And yesterday was the day of our cinema heroes riding to the rescue at the last possible moment. The day of the man in the white hat or the man on the white horse - or the man who always came to save America at the last moment someone always came to save America at the last moment especially in B movies. And when America found itself having a hard time facing the future, they looked for people like John Wayne. But since John Wayne was no longer available, they settled for Ronald Reagan and it has placed us in a situation that we can only look at like a B movie.

Come with us back to those inglorious days when heroes weren't zeros. Before fair was square. When the cavalry came straight away and all-American men were like Hemingway to the days of the wondrous B movie. The producer underwritten by all the millionaires necessary will be Casper The Defensive Weinberger no more animated choice is available. The director will be Attila the Haig, running around frantically declaring himself in control and in charge. The ultimate realization of the inmates taking over at the asylum. The screenplay will be adapted from the book called Voodoo Economics by George Papa Doc Bush. Music by the Village People the very military "Macho Man."

Company!!!
Macho, macho man!
Two-three-four.
He likes to be well, you get the point.
Huuut! Your left! Your left! Your leftright, left, right, left, right!

A theme song for saber-rallying and selling wars door-to-door. Remember, we're looking for the closest thing we can find to John Wayne. Clichs abound like kangaroos courtesy of some spaced out Marlin Perkins, a Reagan contemporary. Clichs like, itchy trigger finger and tall in the saddle and riding off or on into the sunset. Clichs like, Get off of my planet by sundown! More so than clichs like, he died with his boots on. Marine tough the man is. Bogart tough the man is. Cagney tough the man is. Hollywood tough the man is. Cheap stick tough. And Bonzo's substantial. The ultimate in synthetic selling: A Madison Avenue masterpiece a miracle a cotton-candy politicianPresto! Macho!

Macho, macho man!

Put your orders in America. And quick as Kodak your leaders duplicate with the accent being on the nukes - cause all of a sudden we have fallen prey to selective amnesia - remembering what we want to remember and forgetting what we choose to forget. All of a sudden, the man who called for a blood bath on our college campuses is supposed to be Dudley God-damn Do-Right?

You go give them liberals hell Ronnie. That was the mandate. To the new Captain Bly on the new ship of fools. It was doubtlessly based on his chameleon performance of the past - as a liberal democrat as the head of the Studio Actor's Guild. When other celluloid saviors were cringing in terror from McCarthy Ron stood tall. It goes all the way back from Hollywood to hillbilly. From liberal to libelous, from Bonzo to Birch idolborn again. Civil rights, women's rights, gay rightsit's all wrong. Call in the cavalry to disrupt this perception of freedom gone wild. God damn itfirst one wants freedom, then the whole damn world wants freedom.

Nostalgia, that's what we wantthe good ol' dayswhen we gave'em hell. When the buck stopped somewhere and you could still buy something with it. To a time when movies were in black and white and so was everything else. Even if we go back to the campaign trail, before six-gun Ron shot off his face and developed hoof-in-mouth. Before the free press went down before full-court press. And were reluctant to review the menu because they knew the only thing available was Crow.

Lon Chaney, our man of a thousand faces - no match for Ron. Doug Henning does the make-up - special effects from Grecian Formula 16 and Crazy Glue. Transportation furnished by the David Rockefeller of Remote Control Company. Their slogan is, Why wait for 1984? You can panic now...and avoid the rush.

So much for the good news

As Wall Street goes, so goes the nation. And here's a look at the closing numbers racism's up, human rights are down, peace is shaky, war items are hot - the House claims all ties. Jobs are down, money is scarce and common sense is at an all-time low on heavy trading. Movies were looking better than ever and now no one is looking because, we're starring in a B movie. And we would rather had John Waynewe would rather had John Wayne.

"You don't need to be in no hurry.
You ain't never really got to worry.
And you don't need to check on how you feel.
Just keep repeating that none of this is real.
And if you're sensing, that something's wrong,
Well just remember, that it won't be too long
Before the director cuts the sceneyea."

This ain't really your life,
Ain't really your life,
Ain't really ain't nothing but a movie.

[Refrain repeated about 25 times or more in an apocalyptic crescendo with a military cadence.]

This ain't really your life,
Ain't really your life,
Ain't really ain't nothing but a movie.

Some people think that America invented the blues
And few people doubt that America is the home of the blues
As the bluesicians have gone all over the world carrying the blues message
And the world has snapped its fingers and tapped its feet right along with the blues folks
But, the blues has always been totally American
As American as apple pie
As American as the blues
As American as apple pie
The question is why?
Why should the blues be so at home here
Well, America provided the atmosphere

America provided the atmosphere for the blues and the blues was born
The blues was born on the American wilderness
The blues was born on the beaches where the slave ships docked
Born on the slave man's auction block
The blues was born and carried on the howling wind
The blues grew up a slave
The blues grew up as property
The blues grew up in Nat Turner visions
The blues grew up in Harriet Tubman courage
The blues grew up in small town deprivation
The blues grew up in big city isolation
The blues grew up in the nightmares of the white man
The blues grew up in the blues singing of Bessie and Billie and Ma
The blues grew up in Satchmo's horn, on Duke's piano and Langston's poetry, on Robeson's baritone

The point is
That the blues has grown
The blues is grown now, full grown
And you can trace the evolution of the blues
On a parallel line with the evolution of this country
From Plymouth Rock to acid-rock
From 13 states to Watergate
The blues is grown
But not the home
The blues is grown
But the country has not
The blues remembers everything the country forgot

It's a bicentennial year and the blues is celebrating a birthday
And it's a bicentennial blues

America has got the blues and it's a bicentennial edition
The blues view might amuse you
But make no mistake, it's a bicentennial year
A year of hysterical importance
A year of historical importance

Ripped off like donated moments from the past
200 years ago this evening
200 years ago last evening
And what about now?
The blues is now
The blues has grown up and the country has not
The country has been ripped off
Ripped off like the Indians
Ripped off like jazz
Ripped off like nature
Ripped off like Christmas
Man-handled by media overkill
Goosed by aspiring vice presidents
Violated by commercial corporations

A bicentennial year
The year the symbol transformed into the B-U-Y centennial
Buy a car
Buy a flag
Buy a map
Until the public in mass has been bludgeoned into bicentennial submission
Or bicentennial suspicion
I fall into the latter category
It's a blues year
And America has got the blues
It's got the blues because of partial deification
Of partial accomplishments
Over partial periods of time

Halfway justice
Halfway liberty
Halfway equality
It's a half-ass year

And we would be silly in all our knowledge
In all our self-righteous knowledge
When we sit back and laugh and mock the things that happen in our lives
To accept anything less than the truth
About this bicentennial year
And the truth relates to 200 years of people and ideas getting by

It got by George Washington
The ideas of justice, liberty and equality
Got cold by George Washington
Slave-owner general
Ironic that the father of this country
Should be a slave owner

The father of this country a slave-owner
Having got by him
It made it easy to get by his henchman
The creators of this liberty
Who slept in the beds with the captains of slave ships
Fought alongside black freed men in the union army
And left America a legacy of hypocrisy
It's a blues year

Got by Gerald Ford
Oatmeal man
Has declared himself at odds
With people on welfare, people who get food stamps
Day care children, the elderly, the poor, women
And people who might vote for Ronald Reagan

Ronald Reagan, it got by him
Hollyweird
Acted like a actor
Acted like a liberruuuuuuuulllzz lolz
Acted like General Franco when he acted like governor of California
Now he acts like somebody might vote for him for president

It got by Jimmy Carter
Skippy
Got by Jimmy Carter and got by him and his friend the colonel
The creators of southern-fried triple talk
A blues trio
America got the blues

It got by Henry Kissinger
The international godfather of peace
A piece of Vietnam
A piece of Laos
A piece of Angola
A piece of Cuba

A blues quartet
And America got the blues

The point is that it may get by you
For another 4 years
For another 8 years
You stuck
Playing 2nd fiddle in a blues quartet

Got the blues looking for the first principle
Which was justice
It's a blues year for justice

It's a blues year for the San Quentin 6
Looking for justice

It's a blues year for Gary Tyler
Looking for justice

It's a blues year for Rev. Ben Chaves
Looking for justice

It's a blues year for Boston
Looking for justice

It's a blues year for baby's on buses
It's a blues year for mothers and fathers with babies on buses
It's a blues year for Boston

And it's a blues year all over this country
America has got the blues
And the blues is in the street looking for the 3 principles
Justice, liberty and equality
We would do well to join the blues looking for justice, liberty and equality

The blues is in the street
America has got the blues
But don't let it get by us.

The economy is in an uproar
The whole damn countries is in the red
Taxi fares are going up
You say, "Billy Green is dead"?
The government can't decide on bussin'
or at least thats what they said

Yea I heard you, when you told me
You said, "Billy Green was dead"
But let me tell you bout these hot-pants that this big legged sister wore
when i partied with the alphas
what?
Billy took an overdose
well now junkies will be junkies
but did you see Gunsmoke last night?
man they had themselves a shootout and folks was dyin' left and right
At the end when Matt was cornerd i had damn near give up hope

What you? Why you keep on interrupting me? you say, My son is taking dope?
Call the law and call the doctor!
What you mean i shouldn't scream?
My only son is taking dope?
Should i sit here like I'm pleased?

Is that familiar anybody?

Check out whats inside your head
Because it never seems to matter
when it's Billy Green who's dead

The economy is in an uproar
The whole damn countries is in the red
Taxi fares are going up
You say, "Billy Green is dead"?
The government can't decide on bussin'
or at least thats what they said

Yea I heard you, when you told me
You said, "Billy Green was dead"
But let me tell you bout these hot-pants that this big legged sister wore
when i partied with the alphas
what?
Billy took an overdose
well now junkies will be junkies
but did you see Gunsmoke last night?
man they had themselves a shootout and folks was dyin' left and right
At the end when Matt was cornerd i had damn near give up hope

What you? Why you keep on interrupting me? you say, My son is taking dope?
Call the law and call the doctor!
What you mean i shouldn't scream?
My only son is taking dope?
Should i sit here like I'm pleased?

Is that familiar anybody?

Check out whats inside your head
Because it never seems to matter
when it's Billy Green who's dead

We deal in too many externals, brother
Always afro's, handshakes and dashikis
Never can a man build a working structure for black capitalism
Always does the man read Mao or Fanon

I think I know you would-be black revolutionaries too well
Standing on a box on the corner, talking about blowing the white man away
That's now where it's at yet, brother

Calling this man an Uncle Tom and telling this woman to get an afro
But you won't speak to her if she looks like hell, now will you brother
Some of us been checking your act out kinda close

And by now its looking kinda shaky
The way you been rushin' people with your super black bag
Jumping down on some black men with both feet cause they're after their B-A
But you're never around when your BA is in danger, I mean your black ass
I think it was a little too easy for you to forget that you were a negro before Malcolm
You drove your white girl through the village every Friday night
While the grassroots stared in envy and drank wine, do you remember?
You need to get your memory banks organized brother.

Show that man you call an Uncle Tom just where he's wrong
Show that woman that you're a sincere black man
All we need to do is see you shut up and be black
Help that woman
Help that man
That's what brothers are for brother.

We deal in too many externals, brother.
Always afros, handshakes, and dashikis.

Never can a man build a working structure for black capitalism.
Always does the man read Mao or Fanon.

I think I know you would-be black revolutionaries too well.
Standing on a box on a corner, talking about blowing the white boy away.
That's not where it's at, yet, brother.

Calling this man an Uncle Tom,
And telling this woman to get an afro,
But you won't speak to her if she looks like hell, will you, brother?

Some of us been checking you act out kinda closely.
And by now it's looking kinda shaky, the way you been rushing people with your super-black bag.
Jumping down on some black men with both feet because they are after their B.A.
But you're never around when your B.A. is in danger.
I mean your black ASS.

I think it was a little too easy for you to forget that you were a negro before Malcolm.
You drove your white girl through the village every Friday night,
While the grass roots stared in envy and drank wine.
Do you remember?

You need get your memory banks organized, brother.
Show that man you call an Uncle Tom just where he is wrong.
Show that woman that you are a sincere black man.

All we need to do is see you SHUT UP AND BE BLACK.
Help that woman.
Help that man.
That's what brothers are for, brother.

Ahh lovely day……

I never really thought of myself as a complex man,
Or as someone who was really that hard to understand.
But it would hardly take a genius to realize
That I’ve always been a lot too arrogant and a little too f$%kin’ wise
That was a combination that made folks feel duty bound,
To do whatever they could to try and shoot me down.
To head off some of the things I might possibly say,
And see if they couldn’t take some of my pride away.
To bring me disappointment and teach me to fear it
Obviously these are folks that just didn’t have no spirit
Spirits say

[chorus]
Don’t give up (spirits say don’t give up)
Yes it’s time to stop your fallin’
You’ve been down long enough
Can’t you hear the spirits callin’
Yes it’s the spirits
Can’t you hear iiiiiit
Callin’ your name x 2
Yeah talkin’ bout spiriiiiiiiiiiits heh

There are people whose lives are so far of the track
That what they like best about life is stabbing’ brothers in the back
And I was obviously too blind and probably too weak
To see who was responsible for my losing streak
The best way to explain it is to say simply because
I was looking around outside and the truth is I was
the one. So I got locked into all of the analysis
And found myself locked into a kind of paralysis
And something was calling and I almost didn’t hear it
But I spent a lot of time being blessed by the spirits
They keep saying

[Chorus]

I didn’t matter if it was a child or and adult
There was absolutely no-one that I could not insult.
So that I could isolate myself somewhere off to the side
And continue to juggle all the possible whys
The warmth I wanted to generate so well
Had turned into a frozen hell
And the discouraging injustices I felt
Had pinned me somewhere inside a drug infested cell
Where those who told didn’t know and those who knew didn’t tell
And “I could continue to feel sorry for my self” [echo of “”]
And then I heard
[Chorus]

Ain’t no way overnight to turn your life around
And this ain’t the conversation of someone that never falls back down
But no matter how long you’ve been on trial
With the days and weeks of self denial
And no matter how many times you’ve tried to make it
And found out that right then you just couldn’t take it
If you are looking for a looser who found strength and success
Remember the spirit of Brother Malcolm X
And know that you can leave all your mistakes behind
The day that you “really make up your mind” [echo of “”]
Come on brother… come on up
Stand on up and say…
[Chorus]

it was not enough that we were bought and brought to this home as the slave, locked in the bowels of a floating shithouse, watching those we love eaten away by plauge and insanity, flesh falling like strips of bark from a termite-infested tree, bones rotting turning first to brittle ivory then to resin.
that was not enough.
it was not enough that we were chained to leg irons, black on black with a piss stained wall forced to heed nature's call through and inside of tattered rags that strained our privates, and evidently years of slavery did not appease your need to be superior to something like a crazed lion hung up on being the king of his corner of the cage, backs bent under the wieght of being everything and having nothing, minds too like bomerrangs curving back into themselves kicked and carved by the face-straining smiles that saved my life.
that was not enough.
somehow i can not believe that it would be enough for me to melt with you and integrate without the thoughts of rape and murder. i cannot conceive of peace on earth until i have given you a piece of lead or pipe to end your worthless motherfucking exitence. imagine your nightmares of my sneaking into a vieled of satin bedroom and attacking your daughter, wife and mother at once ripping open their bowels sexually like a wishbone. imagine that magnified a million times when you realize that the blinders have been stripped from my eyes and I realize that slavery was no smiling happy-fizzy party. your ancestors raped my foremothers and i will not forget. i will not forget that Yale or Harvard or Princeton or In-Hell because you are on my mind. i see you everytime my woman walks down the street with her ass on her shoulders. i see you everytime i look in the mirror and think about the times that i would pat myself on the back for not being too black afterall. i think of you morning, noon and night and i wonder, "just exactly what in hell is enough?" everytime i see a rope or gun i remember, and to top it all of you ain't through yet. over fifty you have killed in mississippi since 1963. that doesn't even begin to begin all of those you have maimed, hit and run over, blinded, poisoned, starved, or castrated. i hope you do not think that a vote for John Kennedy took you off my shit-list because in the street there will only be black and white. there will be no Democrats, Republicans, Liberals, Conservatives, Moderates, or any other of the rest of that shit you have used to make me forget to hate.
there ain't no enough. there ain't no surrender. there is only plot and plan, move and groove, kill. there is no promise land. there is only the promise. the promise is not vowel until we have been nerve gassed, shot down and murdered, or done some of the same ourselves. look over your shoulder motherfucker, i am coming.

Mmmmm

I can't seem to find
the words to say (to say)

I don't have strength to play the games
you need to play (to play)

Every day I seem to be running from the truth
I ask myself questions but it just ain't no use
'Cause it seems no matter, no matter, what I try to do
I'm still loving and living, lying and losing
Every day (Yeah, every day)

I've got a job
And to say the least
It don't mean a thing (it don't mean a thing)
It don't begin to compare
With the hurt and pair that I've seen (I've seen)
Sometimes I know I can't tell wrong from right
I don't seem to know day from night
It's no wonder that the whole world uptight
They're just loving and living, lying and losing
Every day (Yeah, every day)

Stop on the way home
From work to have a drink
Just to give myself a little time to think
'Cause it seems that more and more I start to realize
That the truth that I wanted
The love that I needed
Has somehow disappeared before my eyes

I can't seem to find the words I need to say (to say)
I can't find strength enough to play the games you need, you need to play (to play)
'Cause every day you got me, got me running from the truth
And no matter, no matter what I try to do
It seems that somehow it just ain't no use
I'm still loving and living, lying and losing
Can't seem to remember
God it's so confusing
I'm still loving and living, lying and losing
Every day (Yeah, every day)

Find a shadow cast by rainbows
There you’ll meet the sage.
Feeding rabbits bits of lettuce or cleaning out the cage.
He can give you more direction than you’ve ever known.
Show you your bronzed baby shoes
Now, my how you have grown!
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But Peace won’t be still of its own free will.
Say you want to go exploring; you got to find some truth.
Can’t stand one more day of Christians shouting down at you.
You say you don’t dig politics that never was your bag.
People who could run for office wave their private flag.
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But peace won’t be still of its own free will
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But peace won’t be still of its own free will.

Find a shadow cast by rainbows
There you’ll meet the sage.
Feeding rabbits bits of lettuce or cleaning out the cage.
He can give you more direction than you’ve ever known.
Show you your bronzed baby shoes
Now, my how you have grown!
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But Peace won’t be still of its own free will.
Say you want to go exploring; you got to find some truth.
Can’t stand one more day of Christians shouting down at you.
You say you don’t dig politics that never was your bag.
People who could run for office wave their private flag.
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But peace won’t be still of its own free will
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But peace won’t be still of its own free will.

Find a shadow cast by rainbows
There you’ll meet the sage.
Feeding rabbits bits of lettuce or cleaning out the cage.
He can give you more direction than you’ve ever known.
Show you your bronzed baby shoes
Now, my how you have grown!
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But Peace won’t be still of its own free will.
Say you want to go exploring; you got to find some truth.
Can’t stand one more day of Christians shouting down at you.
You say you don’t dig politics that never was your bag.
People who could run for office wave their private flag.
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But peace won’t be still of its own free will
Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by,
But peace won’t be still of its own free will.

Give Her a Call on the Spirits album, 1994.

My life is one of movement

I been running as fast as I can

I've inherited trial and error directly from my old man

But I'm committed to the consequences

Whether I stand or fall

And when I get back to my life

I think I'm gonna give her a call

She's been waiting patiently

For me to get myself together

And it touches something deep inside

When she said she'd wait forever

Because forever's right up on me now

That is, if it ever comes at all

And when I'm back to my life

I think I'll give her a call.

Brother man nowadays livin' in the ghetto
Where the dangers sure enough real.
Well when he's out late at night,
and if he's got his head on right,
Well, I lay you 9 to 5 he's walking with steel.

Brother Man says he's 'fraid of gangsters
Messing with people just for fun
He don't want to be next.
He got a family to protect.
So just last week he bought himself a gun.

Everybody got a pistol, everybody got a .45
And the philosophy seem to be,
At least as near as I can see,
When other folks give up theirs, I'll give up mine.

This is a violent civilization;
If civilization's where I am.
Every channel that I stop on
Got a different kind of cop on
Killing them by the million for Uncle Sam.

Saturday night just ain't that special.
Yeah, I got the constitution on the run.
'Cause even though we've got the right
To defend our home, to defend our life,
Got to understand to get it in hand about the guns.

Everybody's got a pistol. Everybody got a .45.
The philosophy seems to be,
At least as near as I can see,
When other folks give up, I, I'll give up...

Saturday night just ain't that special.
Freedom to be afraid is all you want.
Yes if you don't want to be next.
You've got a family to protect.
9 out of 10, you've got a friend, you've got a gun.

Everybody got a pistol. Everybody got a .45.
And the philosophy seems to be,
At least as near as I can see,
When other folks give up theirs, I'll give up mine.

Everybody got a pistol, this mosty be the NRA
Yeah 'cause when it's time to line up
You know damn well they're gonna shine up
Everybody...

And the philosophy seem to be
At least as near as I can see,
When other folks give up theirs, I'll give up mine.

Brother Man nowadays living in the ghetto
Where the danger's sure enough real
Well when he's out late at night
And if he's got his head on right
Well, I lay you 9 to 5 he's walking with steal.

Brother Man says he's 'fraid of gangsters
Messing with people just for fun
He don't want to be next
He got a family to protect
So just last week he bought himself a gun.

[Chorus]
Everybody got a pistol, everybody got a 45
And the philosophy seem to be
At least as near as I can see
When other folks give up theirs, I'll give up mine.

This is a violent civilization
If civilization's where I am
Every channel that I stop on
Got a different kind of cop on
Killing them by the million for Uncle Sam

Saturday night just ain't that special
Yeah, I got the constitution on the run
'Cause even though we've got the right
To defend our home, to defend our life
Got to understand to get it in hand about the guns

[Chorus]

Saturday night just ain't that special
Freedom to be afraid is all you want
Yes if you don't want to be next
You've got a family to protect
9 out of 10, you've got a friend, you've got a gun.

[Chorus]

Everybody got a pistol, this mosty be the N-R-A
Yeah 'cause when it's time to shine up
You know damn well they're gonna line up
Everybody

And the philosophy seem to be
At least as near as I can see
When other folks give up theirs, I'll give up mine

A junkie walking through the twilight
I'm on my way home
I left three days ago, but no one seems to know I'm gone
Home is where the hatred is
Home is filled with pain and it,
Might not be such a bad idea if I never, never went home again

Stand as far away from me as you can and ask me why
Hang on to your rosary beads
Close your eyes to watch me die
You keep saying, kick it, quit it, kick it, quit it
God, but did you ever try
To turn your sick soul inside out
So that the world, so that the world
Can watch you die

Home is where I live inside my white powder dreams
Home was once an empty vacuum that's filled now with my silent screams
Home is where the needle marks
Try to heal my broken heart
And it might not be such a bad idea if I never, if I never went home again
Home again
Home again
Home again
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, can't go home again

A junkie walking through the twilight
I'm on my way home
I left three days ago, but no one seems to know I'm gone
Home is where the hatred is
Home is filled with pain and it,
Might not be such a bad idea if I never, never went home again

Stand as far away from me as you can and ask me why
Hang on to your rosary beads
Close your eyes to watch me die
You keep saying, kick it, quit it, kick it, quit it
God, but did you ever try
To turn your sick soul inside out
So that the world, so that the world
Can watch you die

Home is where I live inside my white powder dreams
Home was once an empty vacuum that's filled now with my silent screams
Home is where the needle marks
Try to heal my broken heart
And it might not be such a bad idea if I never, if I never went home again
Home again
Home again
Home again
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, can't go home again

A junkie walking through the twilight
I'm on my way home
I left three days ago, but no one seems to know I'm gone
Home is where the hatred is
Home is filled with pain and it,
Might not be such a bad idea if I never, never went home again

Stand as far away from me as you can and ask me why
Hang on to your rosary beads
Close your eyes to watch me die
You keep saying, kick it, quit it, kick it, quit it
God, but did you ever try
To turn your sick soul inside out
So that the world, so that the world
Can watch you die

Home is where I live inside my white powder dreams
Home was once an empty vacuum that's filled now with my silent screams
Home is where the needle marks
Try to heal my broken heart
And it might not be such a bad idea if I never, if I never went home again
Home again
Home again
Home again
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, quit it
Kick it, can't go home again

I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
I had confessed to myself all along, tracer of life, poetry trends
That awareness, consciousness, poems that screamed of pain and the origins of pain and death had blanketed my tablets
And therefore, my friends, brothers, sisters, in-laws, outlaws, and besides -- they already knew
But brother Torres, common ancient bloodline brother Torres is dead
I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
I had said I wasn't going to write no more words down about people kicking us when we're down
About racist dogs that attack us and drive us down, drag us down and beat us down
But the dogs are in the street
The dogs are alive and the terror in our hearts has scarcely diminished
It has scarcely brought us the comfort we suspected
The recognition of our terror and the screaming release of that recognition
Has not removed the certainty of that knowledge -- how could it
The dogs rabid foaming with the energy of their brutish ignorance
Stride the city streets like robot gunslingers
And spread death as night lamps flash crude reflections from gun butts and police shields
I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
But the battlefield has oozed away from the stilted debates of semantics
Beyond the questionable flexibility of primal screaming
The reality of our city, jungle streets and their Gestapos
Has become an attack on home, life, family and philosophy, total
It is beyond the question of the advantages of didactic niggerisms
The motherfucking dogs are in the street
In Houston maybe someone said Mexicans were the new niggers
In LA maybe someone said Chicanos were the new niggers
In Frisco maybe someone said Orientals were the new niggers
Maybe in Philadelphia and North Carolina they decided they didn't need no new niggers
I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
But dogs are in the street
It's a turn around world where things are all too quickly turned around
It was turned around so that right looked wrong
It was turned around so that up looked down
It was turned around so that those who marched in the streets with bibles and signs of peace became enemies of the state and risk to national security
So that those who questioned the operations of those in authority on the principles of justice, liberty, and equality became the vanguard of a communist attack
It became so you couldn't call a spade a motherfucking spade
Brother Torres is dead, the Wilmington Ten are still incarcerated
Ed Davis, Ronald Regan, James Hunt, and Frank Rizzo are still alive
And the dogs are in the motherfucking street
I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
I made a mistake

Hey, yeah, we the same brothas from a long time ago
We was talkin' about television and doin' it on the radio
What we did was to help our generation realize
They had to get out there and get busy cause it wasn't gonna be televised
We got respect for you rappers and the way they be free-weighin'
But if you're gon' be teachin' folks things, make sure you know what you're sayin'
Older folks in our neighborhood got plenty of know-how
Remember if it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be out here now
And I ain't comin' at you with no disrespect
All I'm sayin' is that you damn well got to be correct
Because if you're gonna be speakin' for a whole generation
And you know enough to try and handle their education
Make sure you know the real deal about past situations
It ain't just repeatin' what you heard on the local TV stations
...Sometimes they tell lies and put 'em in a truthful disguise
But the truth is that's why we said it wouldn't be televised
They don't know what to say to our young folks, but they know that you do
And if they really knew the truth...why would they tell you?
The first sign is peace, tell all them gun totin' young brothas
That the man is glad to see us out there killin' one another
We raised too much hell when they was shootin' us down
So they started poisoning our minds tryin' to jerk us all around
And they tell us they got to come in and control our situation
They want half of us on dope and the other half in incarceration
If the ones they want dead ain't killed by what they instigated
They put some dope on a brotha's body and claim it was drug related
Tell them drug related means there don't need to be no investigation
Or at least that's the way they're gon' play it on the local TV stations
All your 9-millimeter brothas...give them somthin' to think about
Tell them you heard that this is the new word, they got to work that stuff out
But somehow they feel in the wrong way with a gun in their hands
They feel real independent...but they just pullin' contracts for the man
Five and five will tell you it's hopeless out there on the avenue
But if they really knew the truth...why would they tell you?
And if they look at you like you're insane
And they start callin' you scarecrow and say you ain't got no brain
Or start tellin' folks that you suddenly gone lame
Or that white folks had finally co-opted your game
Or worse yet implying that you don't really know...
That's the same thing they said about us...a long time ago
Young rappers, one more suggestion before I get out of your way
But I appreciate the respect you give me and what you got to say
I'm sayin' protect your community and spread that respect around
Tell brothas and sistas they gotta calm that bullshit down
Cause we're terrorizin' our old folks and brought fear into our homes
And they ain't got to hang out with the senior citizens
Just tell them, “Dammit...leave the old folks alone”
And we know who rippin' off the neighborhood, tell them, “That BS has got to stop!”
Tell them you're sorry they can't handle it out there
But they got to take the crime off the block
And if they look at you like you're insane
And they start callin' you scarecrow and say you ain't got no brain
Or start tellin' folks that you suddenly gone lame
Or that white folks had finally co-opted your game
Or worse yet saying that you really don't know...
That's the same thing they said about me a long time ago
And if they tell folks that you finally lost your nerve
That's the same thing they said about us, when we said, “Johannesburg”
But I think the young folks need to know, that things don't go both ways
You can't talk respect of every other song or just every other day
What I'm speakin' on now is the raps about the women folks
On one song she's your African Queen on the next one she's a joke
And you ain't said no words that I haven't heard, but that ain't no compliment
It only insults eight people out of ten and questions your intelligence
Four letter words or four syllable words won't make you important
It'll only magnify how shallow you are and let everybody know it
And if they look at you like they think you insane
Or they call you scarecrow thinkin' you ain't got no brain
Or start tellin' folks that you suddenly gone lame
Or that white folks have finally co-opted your game
Or you really don't know...They said that about me a long time ago
If they finally start to tell people that you lost your nerve
That's what they said about Johannesburg
You ain't insane...you have got a brain
You haven't gone lame; you have got your game
Remember...keep the nerve
Keep the nerve
Keep the nerve
Keep the nerve
...I'm talkin' about peace

You explained it to me I must admit
But just for the record you were talkin' shit
Y'all rap about no knock bein' legislated
For the people you've always hated
In this hell hole you, we, call home

No knock, the man will say
To keep that man from beating his wife
No knock, the man will say
To keep people from themselves

No knockin', head-rockin', inter-shockin'
Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin'
And bein' white
No knock

No knocked on my brother Fred Hampton
Bullet holes all over the place
No knocked on my brother Michael Harris
And jammed a shotgun against his skull

For my protection?
Who's gonna protect me from you?
The likes of you?
The nerve of you?
Your tomato face deadpan
Your dead hands ending another freedom fan

No knockin', head rockin', inter-shockin'
Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin'
And bein' white

But if you're wise, no knocker
You'll tell your no-knockin' lackeys
Ha!
No knock on my brother's head
No knock on my sister's head
No knock on my brother's head
No knock on my sister's head

And double lock your door
Because soon someone may be no-knockin'
Ha, ha!
For you

You explained it to me I must admit
But just for the record you were talkin' shit
Y'all rap about no knock bein' legislated
For the people you've always hated
In this hell hole you, we, call home

No knock, the man will say
To keep that man from beating his wife
No knock, the man will say
To protect people from themselves

No knockin', head-rockin', inter-shockin'
Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin'
And bein' white
No knock

No knocked on my brother Fred Hampton
Bullet holes all over the place
No knocked on my brother Michael Harris
And jammed a shotgun against his skull

For my protection?
Who's gonna protect me from you?
The likes of you?
The nerve of you?
Your tomato face deadpan
Your dead hands ending another freedom fan

No knockin', head rockin', inter-shockin'
Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin'
And bein' white

But if you're wise, no knocker
You'll tell your no-knockin' lackeys
Ha!
No knock on my brother's head
No knock on my sister's head
No knock on my brother's head
No knock on my sister's head

And double lock your door
Because soon someone may be no-knockin'
Ha, ha!
For you

(No knock: To be slipped into John Mitchell's suggestion box.)

You explained it to me I must admit
But just for the record you were talkin' shit
Y'all rap about no knock bein' legislated
For the people you've always hated
In this hell hole you, we, call home

No knock, the man will say
To keep that man from beating his wife
No knock, the man will say
To protect people from themselves

No knockin', head-rockin', inter-shockin'
Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin'
And bein' white
No knock

No knocked on my brother Fred Hampton
Bullet holes all over the place
No knocked on my brother Michael Harris
And jammed a shotgun against his skull

For my protection?
Who's gonna protect me from you?
The likes of you?
The nerve of you?
Your tomato face deadpan
Your dead hands ending another freedom fan

No knockin', head rockin', inter-shockin'
Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin'
And bein' white

But if you're wise, no knocker
You'll tell your no-knockin' lackeys
Ha!
No knock on my brother's head
No knock on my sister's head
No knock on my brother's head
No knock on my sister's head

And double lock your door
Because soon someone may be no-knockin'
Ha, ha!
For you

(No knock: To be slipped into John Mitchell's suggestion box.)

A giant eye zapped across the screen,
With tentacle type feeler type thin roots,
Reaching for someone maybe me,
With large black block letters,
Chiseled into the white around the pupils screaming,
R e v o l u t i o n,
Revolution,
And as the eye giant and green,
Sort of oozed with no obvious locomotion,
Closer and closer until it was like this on my screen,
It split and blood flowed down each side of the street,
Washing away things that we didn't need to see,
Just like beer cans peanut shells and copies of the daily news,
And then laying there, bleeding like a stuck pig,
Was a stuck pig,
Get the point?

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
And then tell them how bad things are down South.

Glad to get high and see the slow motion world.
Just to reach, and touch, the half notes floating.
Worlds spinning orbit quicker than 9/8ths Dave Brubeck.
We come now, frantically searching for Thomas Moore, rainbow villages.
Up on suddenly, Charlie Mingus and our man Abdul Malik,
to add bass, to a bottomless pit of insecurity.

You may be plastic because you never meditate,
about the bottom of glasses, The third side of your universe.

Add on Alice Coltrane and her cosmic strains.
Still no vocal on blue black horizons.

Your plasticity is tested by a formless assault.
The sun can answer questions in tune, to all your sacrifices.
But why would our new jazz age give us no more mind expanding puzzles?

Enter John.

Blow from under, always, and never, so that the morning, the sun,
may scream of brain bending saxophones.

The third world arrives, with Yusef Lateef, and Pharaoh Saunders.
With oboes straining to touch the core of your unknown soul.
Ravi Shankar comes, with strings attached, prepared to stabilize your seventh sense,
Your black rhythm.

Up and down a silly ladder run the notes, without the words.
Words are important for the mind, but the notes are for the soul.
Miles Davis, So what?
Cannonball, Fiddler, Mercy.
Dexter Gordon, One Flight Up.
Donald Byrd, playing Cristo, but what about words?

Would you like to survive on sadness? Call on Ella and Jose Happiness.
Drift with Smokey, Bill Medley, Bobby Taylor, and Otis Redding.
Soul music where frustrations are washed by drums, Nina and Miriam.

Congo, Mongo, Beat me, senseless, bongo, Tonto.
Flash through dream worlds of STP and LSD.
Speed kills and sometimes musics call, is frustrated.
And the black man is confused.

Our speed is our life pace, much too fast, not good.
I beg you to escape, and live, and hear all of the real.
Until a call comes for you to cry elsewhere.
We must all cry, but tell me.

Must our tears be white?

If you're driving through the country on a lazy afternoon
Or you're watching your children playin' after school
They seem to be so unaware of I know I know
The things that they soon have to take care of

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
Right now they seem to play such a small part of
The things that they soon be right at the heart of


My little Tommy he said he wants to be a fireman
And little Mary she said she got to teach at school
If we know or we say we know about the problems ohohoh
Why can't we do something to try and solve them

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
We got to do something yeah to save the children
To save the children
To save the children

If you're driving through the country on a lazy afternoon
Or you're watching your children playin' after school
They seem to be so unaware of I know I know
The things that they soon have to take care of

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
Right now they seem to play such a small part of
The things that they soon be right at the heart of


My little Tommy he said he wants to be a fireman
And little Mary she said she got to teach at school
If we know or we say we know about the problems ohohoh
Why can't we do something to try and solve them

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
We got to do something yeah to save the children
To save the children
To save the children

If you're driving through the country on a lazy afternoon
Or you're watching your children playin' after school
They seem to be so unaware of I know I know
The things that they soon have to take care of

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
Right now they seem to play such a small part of
The things that they soon be right at the heart of


My little Tommy he said he wants to be a fireman
And little Mary she said she got to teach at school
If we know or we say we know about the problems ohohoh
Why can't we do something to try and solve them

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
We got to do something yeah to save the children
To save the children
To save the children

If you're driving through the country on a lazy afternoon
Or you're watching your children playin' after school
They seem to be so unaware of I know I know
The things that they soon have to take care of

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
Right now they seem to play such a small part of
The things that they soon be right at the heart of


My little Tommy he said he wants to be a fireman
And little Mary she said she got to teach at school
If we know or we say we know about the problems ohohoh
Why can't we do something to try and solve them

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
We got to do something yeah to save the children
To save the children
To save the children

I was doin' it when I was a colored boy of eight or nine or ten
I had never heard of Sigmund Freud but hell I was doin' it then
I was doin' it in my teenaged years when I was running the ghetto streets
Now I had never seen me no ink blot test but it still felt good to me

I was doin' it when I arrived in college searching for my degree
But Lord knows a degree wasn't all I got and that's the way it's supposed to be
I hope that when I have kids of my own they really don't get shook
When I tell them that there are things they've got to learn that can't be found in books.

-------------
Lyrics Powered by LyricFind
Written By GIL SCOTT-HERON
<i>Lyrics &copy; CARLIN AMERICA INC</i>

I was doin' it when I was a colored boy of eight or nine or ten
I had never heard of Sigmund Freud but hell I was doin' it then
I was doin' it in my teenaged years when I was running the ghetto streets
Now I had never seen me no ink blot test but it still felt good to me
I was doin' it when I arrived in college searching for my degree
But Lord knows a degree wasn't all I got and that's the way it's supposed to be
I hope that when I have kids of my own they really don't get shook
When I tell them that there are things they've got to learn that can't be found in books.

This is just like listening
to a conversation being held
by the many people who congregate
on one of the most popular blocks
in the largest area of black America

Did you ever eat cornbread and black eye peas
Or watermelon and mustard greens?
Get high as you can on Saturday night
Go to church on Sunday to set things right

Listen

I seen Miss Blake after Willy yesterday
She'd've killed anybody who got in her way
Hey look I got a TV for a pound on the head
And Jimmy Jean got the best Panamanian Red

No I ain't got on no underclothes
But we all got to get through this gypsy rose
I think Clay got his very good points
You say a trade bag with thirteen joints?

Who cares if LBJ is in town?
Up with Stokely and H. Rap Brown
I don't know if the riots is wrong
But whitey's been kickin' my ass for too long

I was s'posed to baby but they held my pay.
Did you hear what the number was 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 and move
Shut up. Hell you know that ain't true.