The Last Poets - Black People What Y'all Gon' Do текст песни

Black people, what y’all gon' do Black people, what y’all gon' do Black people, what y’all gon' do when you wake up and find that you’re dead
with maggots and roaches eating the pus out of your prostituted minds and white
deathly hands massaging your red-hot branding iron?
You’re writing songs of love but not for me They’re writing songs of love but not for me Here we are the employees of all love but yet we are working overtime to cover
up our loneliness
John Coltrane died in vain of love supreme
John Coltrane died in vain of love supreme
Where are the loaves to screams of black unity?
John Coltrane died in vain of love supreme
Where are the higher octanes of righteousness and truth?
John Coltrane died in vain of love supreme
Where are the higher registers of peace and love?
John Coltrane died in vain
What are black people doing enough of that they shouldn’t be doing?
Nothing, nothing, nothing
Black people what y’all gon' do Black people what y’all gon' do I see junkie bitches giving birth to gonorrhea-faced babies that come out
nodding to the rhythms of God Bless America
And these same babies grow up to be good-looking corpses that haunt the streets
of Harlem raping syphilic-minded wombless black pussies who dream of becoming
virgins once again in the hereafter
Stop in the name of love
Stop in the name of love
Stop mugging that old woman
She’s been saving her money all year for a trip to Electric Circus where she
died the very next day
Oh God, oh God!
God ain’t dead, he’s down at the family planning office handing out birth
control pills to black women telling them they are gifts from Heaven
Look, there’s Old Sam the Rhino searching for a last sip of ancient sweet love
in an empty wine bottle in the gutters of his soul
And the air has become polluted with white lies of love while love is dying
from overdoses of misused Christianity and legitimate insane asylums and legal
torture chambers called outside Bed Stuy and Huff
Are we the black people we once loved with the of time
Time was ours to hold in the soft love warm chambers of our hearts
It was we the afro mommies and daddies of a son would turn our strands of hair
into antennas to tune in the juju madness and syncopated love rhythms of Africa
And we love with time and we took the time to love
And with the right time, we’d love
And we loved time after time
Will we ever love again?
Will we ever love again?
Will we really ever love again?
Or will we just sit and rot away with the brighter tomorrows and the scag fill
rat-cluttered pissed this halls of our minds
Black people what y’all gon' do