We choke from the blood on our own hands
Yet blame those too arrogant to bleed properly after we murder them
How they must think America are stranger liberators
What brilliant shade of war we wear
Drape death tolls around our necks
Like authentic Chinese made in the U.S. Kefeyas sold on Canal Street
Celebrate graveyards
And refuse to mourn the God who’s pushing up daisies on our own cotton pickin soil
The dollar is getting weaker
Yet they say war is profitable
Deny Black boys the rights to manhood
But ask them to die like men every day
What name can this God go by
How do I pray to him
What altar must I kneel to
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