Let the funky music Blast and hear me Chant,
High on Radical Philosophy like Immanuel Kant,
Give ole Whitey’s Government an ear-full of Crap,
Our Weapon of Mass Destruction’s Socio-Political Rap.
Violence and Misogyny ? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,
Goddamn yo’ moral Censures an’ holdin’ us in Debt,
You jam us into Ghettos and blame it on some Bell Curve,
Your Deficiency ain’t Arrogance, what a ferkin’ nerve.
Yeah, Ostracised we are, and it’s Social Segregation,
Everywhere we go, all across this goddamn nation,
Yo’ got your riot police to bust our demonstrations
Altogether Brothers : It’s a screwed up Situation !
But yo’ ethnic minorities are gonna have their day,
For Whitey and his Uncle Tom’s sure got a price to pay,
Deny us decent educations and the top Executive Job,
Come the Revolution, you’re the ones were gonna Rob.
Yeah, then the Honkie Ivy Leaguers have to call us Sir,
That’ll rub against the grain, and back-comb some WASP fur,
‘Cos we’ll be runnin’ Washington and you’ll be haulin’ trash,
Get to feel the bitter sting of yo’ own slave-drivin’ lash,
We’ll be in the fancy Lincoln’s, and yo’ get a pick-up truck,
And queuing up for food stamps, y’all just ran out of luck.
Come the Time of Judgement and the great Day of the Rope
We’ll be the one’s in Control, so how y’all gonna cope,
Then yo’ blonde WASP bitches will be down the inner city
Suckin’ up to the Brothers and tellin’ us we’re so pretty,
Yeah, Urban Black is Beautiful but we sure ain’t too fussy,
When it comes to grabbin’ a piece of pure Honkie pussy.
So yo’ better count the days my man, the end is gettin’ near,
Our screamin’ for Reforms has been met with a deaf ear,
‘Cos yo’ Gestapo Pigs still call us Niggers and Spics,
An’ blast us down with guns if we hurl a couple o’ bricks
Through some Yid’s store window an’ do a spot of lootin’,
Then read us our Miranda, after they’ve finished shootin’.
We’re fed up with Askin’ nicely, now we’re gonna Demand
Whitey gives us Equal Shares in the runnin’ of this land,
No more is yo’ gonna treat us as some Inferior Creatures,
We wan’ an Ethnic Majority inside yo’ Elite Legislatures,
Then yo’ Senators and Congressmen had best fold their tent
‘Cos one of the Chosen Brothers is gonna be the President.
So yo’ boys all want Equality, that’s a thing yo’ gotta Earn,
No more playin’ Hooky, yo’ need to stay in school and Learn
The Sound Principles of Civilisation and the Law’s Golden Rules,
Shuck off the Hip-hop culture, and acting like a bunch of Fools,
Become duteous members of Society, you’ve got to really try,
And in a few more Generations hence, y’all might just Qualify.
You boys ain’t just a branch below on Evolution’s Tree,
Yo’s climbing a different timber pole than us White guys be,
With the cultural graces of hyenas a’rutting and feeding
That’s what yo’ all gets from incest and inter-breeding;
And you all have surely broken the major cardinal rule
Paddling at the shallow end of Humanity’s gene pool,
Yo’ should have imitated us and learned how to swim,
Instead of swinging round in trees like old Jungle Jim.
Shit, our Liberals ancestors screwed up a fine Tradition
Giving all yo’ boys yo’ Freedom with Slavery’s Abolition,
Yeah, Freedom to Screw Up and breed like parasitic flies,
Addicted to dope and thieving, and telling filthy lies.
So we’ll drag yo’ out the Ghettos, then yo’ ain’t Urbanised,
And squat y’all in the Countryside, as Farmers, Ruralized,
But yo’ won’t Reform, just keep on smoking that old hash,
To become the Coloured ringers of red-neck trailer trash,
Sitting on your lazy arses, while fertile fields lie fallow,
Sometimes light the barbecue to toast the odd marshmallow;
Any Get Up and Go you had has long got up and Gone,
A string of venal habits, handed from Father down to Son.
Too easy a life of whining and drawing yo’ welfare cheques,
Cos Whitey dealt y’all bad cards, ( we play with different decks )
You’re the ones who drink cheap plonk and crash out on crack,
To inspire any enthusiasm yo’ need a bullwhip across the back,
Lying around in demented apathy, such efforts spent on yawning,
Black Power runs short of steam gettin’ out o’ bed in a morning.
A bunch of jive-arse ne’er do well’s busy combing scrub-pad hair,
Where’d yo’ get this Misconception that Life ought to be Fair?
It ain’t Whitey’s fault yo’s stricken with Bell Curve Deficiency,
Or that it takes a cattle prod to spark yo’ interest or efficiency
In seeking gainful employment or holding down a simple job,
Unless it’s a gun-point heist at the local Stop and Rob.
Blame Lord God or Darwin for yo’ poor grades in Evolution,
A pity the Back to Africa movement fell short of its Solution.
Now yo’ want to usurp Whitey and control the Government game,
The Brothers in charge of Washington ? ( A good ole Negro name )
By the route of armed insurrection seems your selected path,
Democracy provides the Right to try, yet beware of Honkie Wrath,
For in preservation of the Status Quo our patience may wear thin
Then we’ll see how well Napalm sticks to your coloured skin;
Arrogators of our Social Regime fall into the Enemy brackets,
Risking extensive perforations from Uncle Sam’s full metal jackets.
Yet Talk and Rap are forever cheap, the Monkey on our back,
But for Christ’s sake stop reminding us Africans are Black,
It’s a sad manifest fact of which all Whites are fully aware
Each time we get framed by your jealous, hostile stare
As we go about our daily lives, and yo’ loiter on the street,
Panhandling or dealing dope, the ethnic anarchist elite,
An Army of the Social Damned, composed of Spades and Spics
Evolutionary Retards United, who think more with their dicks,
Whose political expression is composed of Hip-hop Rap,
A Theology and Ideology founded on Philosophical Crap.