Bring Me Home (Collab with Clay Morse)
Bring me home
To the motherlands
Where the patriotism was real and the war was hated
The women was beautiful and the men were loyal
Where the drinks hit harder than the nukes
That took everything away
And the cheers of victory rung longer than the american bells
Bring me home to a place
Where myth and reality were two sides of the same coin
Where gods and idols protected our houses
Thousands of years of history and legends
Sung through the lungs of our mothers by our beds at night
While the smell of incense filled our nostrils as our fathers prayed
Where our childhood was filled of stories and tales
Of the adventures of heroes and gods
Told for the rest of eternity
As long as our skins remained golden,
Our hair black and thick,
And our will as strong as the generals and emperors before us.
Bring me home to the lands
Where power was everything
People of the poor could fight their way up
To fame and fortune.
A land where criminals were patriots
Gangs, our family.
Hope, our power.
Leadership, our guide.
Protection, our savior.
Bring me home
Bring me home,
Not to this place that Hollywood has created
My home was created from the iron forge,
Not the movie screen.
Not to this place where you lewdly stare at our women
Fetishizing the very concept of oriental
Not the lies created on the big screen
Where we jump and flew across buildings and trees
Swinging swords and nunchucks in black and white
Like monkeys for your entertainment
I wanna go back to the motherlands
Where the wild was open and free
The terror was within our bloodlines
The jungle was around us
The women knew their men and the children knew their fathers
Guns, germs, and steel was our only worry
Because white men wished to own everything
White men wanted white walls and white floors
Hiring our people to do their bidding
Wait
Sorry
I forgot we still haven't received our necessary reparations as I watch as half my nation stands in lines for food stamps and prison registration
Standing there uneducated and uncultured
As the white man stares back and laughs at his creation
We miss the rumble of the jungle so we invented so many forms of music that became whitewashed just like dancing
Where a dance went from this is my freedom to fist pumping, hips thrusting, sex with your clothes on... molly running through your veins, eyes wide with wonder
And you can smell the white man seeping through their pores and dripping into salty drops, crystallizing and forming the mass of dust blown onto our now ashy knees from the dry air
We wonder why we see ourselves getting snatched up by white left and right,
when we see that some of that white wishes to be black,
Braiding their hair into cornrows,
Rapping along to verses of artists other than Marshall and Mackle’d,
Hooking up with our people, hoping to be something other than the white they were given,
Like taking the winning lotto number and shoving it back,
We just wanna stop the nonsense and get down to the dirt,
We want to be… free
I wanna go back to the motherland,
Where the feuds were true and loyal and our power came from the freedom of the jungle…
Bring me home