1. |
Black Man
05:15
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“Black Man”
from The Black Book of Linguistic Liberation
by C. Liegh McInnis
[i] apologize for marching my muddy waters feet
on your pasty pat boone carpet, but my steps have been
made dusty from dancing in the dirt of the Delta.
So, allow me to straighten your crooked records.
[i] am history. My name is Black,
but you can call me “Daddy Pop”
‘cause [i]’m father to the rainbow.
[i] got more child-nations than Skittles got colors
all birthed from the rich womb of Alkebu-lan.
Even my outhouse produces flowering countries.
My loins are the kaleidoscope of life.
[i] am the prism the creates the spectrum of humanity.
My black body is as fertile as the Nile reservoir,
and my soul shines like the son’s Aton.
[i] was a Muslim before you submitted,
Christ-like before the crucifixion, and a mason before the codes. [i] created remedial education for Socrates.
[i] was the one who suggested the elephant to Hannibal,
the donkey to Yeshua, and the Cadillac to Reverend Ike.
[i] was the one who taught Merlin
that damn sleight of hand trick;
still you call me witch doctor and call him wizard;
as the government works its hoo doo,
hell, [i] need some voo doo jus’ to stay sane.
If you don’t think that [i]’m a magician
jus’ check me out on bill day.
How does fourteen percent of the population
give a whole nation so much soul?
If the one drop rule applies,
then the complete commonwealth is colored.
[i] was the one who did the driving and parallel parking
long before Columbus double parked in a red zone.
[i] tried to warn my carmine brothers
‘bout smoking that pipe with Captain Smith.
[i]’m Nat Turner on my best day
and Clarence Thomas on my worst,
but even my worst doesn’t erase the supreme of my being.
[i]’m B. B. King on Saturday night
and Martin Luther King on Sunday morning.
[i]’m the beautiful fiery Truth of Richard Pryor
and the communal Wisdom of Baba Gregory.
[i] am Frederick Douglass with a Kangol slightly tilted
to the side, still refusing to relinquish my plantation house. [i]’m Booker T. Washington in a red, pinstriped double-breasted suit with red silk socks
and a pair of shiny Stacey Adams.
[i]’m gon’ pull myself up by my wingtips
and look good doing it.
[i]’m the double talking, double consciousness of Du Bois
and the glorious, steadfast rock of Garvey.
[i]’m the “New Negro”—of every ten years.
[i] made the peanut give birth to things that
you wouldn’t believe, and [i] coordinated red, yellow, and green to keep white folks from running into each other.
By the way—how you gon’ invent a cotton gin
when you ain’t picked no cotton?
If necessity is the mother of invention,
then every patent in America should be inscribed in my blood. [i] tried to tell Custard not to go in betwixt them rocks.
[i] took on wings at Tuskegee
and taught America how to fly.
[i] pumped electrifying, orgasmic life
into your comatose language.
[i]’m the same man who cut Malcolm’s conk
and gives Reverend Sharpton his touch-up.
[i] was the one who said, “Run, Jesse, run.”
[i]’m Robert Johnson, Chuck Berry, Thelonious Monk,
Miles Davis, Little Richard, Jackie Wilson, James Brown,
Jimi Hendrix, Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder,
Marvin Gaye, and Tina Turner all rolled into one.
That’s right. [i]’m !
That makes me the sound of the universe
before the pale pirates took control.
But above all else, [i] am forever here
like a stain on the silk shirt of white supremacy.
[i] have survived more wars and famines than McDonald’s has sold over priced and over processed scamburgers.
[i] have survived more conspiracies than an
Oliver Stone movie and more cliffhangers than
Dynasty, Falcon Crest, Dallas and General Hospital. That’s why my Young are so damn Restless.
[i] am the bulging, pounding phallic anxiety of a nation. You don’t know whether to
emasculate me, incarcerate me, infect me, or ejaculate me. That’s alright ‘cause [i] can’t help but
touch myself when [i] walk.
The music in my rhythm gives me more bounce to my beat. [i] am JSU and Tougaloo, the public and private HBCU. And one day [i]’m gon’ use my education
to engineer my sovereignty.
Until then [i]’ll keep funking my blues on the one.
Poverty and oppression are
jus’ more opportunities to be great.
[i]’m too bad to die, too proud not to live
and too funky not to enjoy it all.
The only time that [i] give up my wooly-headed existence is so that others may have everlasting life.
“[i]’m testing positive for the funk. [i]’d gladly pee in anybody’s cup. And if your cup overflows, [i]’m testing positive and pee somemo’.” from “We Can Funk”
Prince and George Clinton
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2. |
Black Man (Edit)
05:13
|
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|
“Black Man”
from The Black Book of Linguistic Liberation
by C. Liegh McInnis
[i] apologize for marching my muddy waters feet
on your pasty pat boone carpet, but my steps have been
made dusty from dancing in the dirt of the Delta.
So, allow me to straighten your crooked records.
[i] am history. My name is Black,
but you can call me “Daddy Pop”
‘cause [i]’m father to the rainbow.
[i] got more child-nations than Skittles got colors
all birthed from the rich womb of Alkebu-lan.
Even my outhouse produces flowering countries.
My loins are the kaleidoscope of life.
[i] am the prism the creates the spectrum of humanity.
My black body is as fertile as the Nile reservoir,
and my soul shines like the son’s Aton.
[i] was a Muslim before you submitted,
Christ-like before the crucifixion, and a mason before the codes. [i] created remedial education for Socrates.
[i] was the one who suggested the elephant to Hannibal,
the donkey to Yeshua, and the Cadillac to Reverend Ike.
[i] was the one who taught Merlin
that damn sleight of hand trick;
still you call me witch doctor and call him wizard;
as the government works its hoo doo,
hell, [i] need some voo doo jus’ to stay sane.
If you don’t think that [i]’m a magician
jus’ check me out on bill day.
How does fourteen percent of the population
give a whole nation so much soul?
If the one drop rule applies,
then the complete commonwealth is colored.
[i] was the one who did the driving and parallel parking
long before Columbus double parked in a red zone.
[i] tried to warn my carmine brothers
‘bout smoking that pipe with Captain Smith.
[i]’m Nat Turner on my best day
and Clarence Thomas on my worst,
but even my worst doesn’t erase the supreme of my being.
[i]’m B. B. King on Saturday night
and Martin Luther King on Sunday morning.
[i]’m the beautiful fiery Truth of Richard Pryor
and the communal Wisdom of Baba Gregory.
[i] am Frederick Douglass with a Kangol slightly tilted
to the side, still refusing to relinquish my plantation house. [i]’m Booker T. Washington in a red, pinstriped double-breasted suit with red silk socks
and a pair of shiny Stacey Adams.
[i]’m gon’ pull myself up by my wingtips
and look good doing it.
[i]’m the double talking, double consciousness of Du Bois
and the glorious, steadfast rock of Garvey.
[i]’m the “New Negro”—of every ten years.
[i] made the peanut give birth to things that
you wouldn’t believe, and [i] coordinated red, yellow, and green to keep white folks from running into each other.
By the way—how you gon’ invent a cotton gin
when you ain’t picked no cotton?
If necessity is the mother of invention,
then every patent in America should be inscribed in my blood. [i] tried to tell Custard not to go in betwixt them rocks.
[i] took on wings at Tuskegee
and taught America how to fly.
[i] pumped electrifying, orgasmic life
into your comatose language.
[i]’m the same man who cut Malcolm’s conk
and gives Reverend Sharpton his touch-up.
[i] was the one who said, “Run, Jesse, run.”
[i]’m Robert Johnson, Chuck Berry, Thelonious Monk,
Miles Davis, Little Richard, Jackie Wilson, James Brown,
Jimi Hendrix, Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder,
Marvin Gaye, and Tina Turner all rolled into one.
That’s right. [i]’m !
That makes me the sound of the universe
before the pale pirates took control.
But above all else, [i] am forever here
like a stain on the silk shirt of white supremacy.
[i] have survived more wars and famines than McDonald’s has sold over priced and over processed scamburgers.
[i] have survived more conspiracies than an
Oliver Stone movie and more cliffhangers than
Dynasty, Falcon Crest, Dallas and General Hospital.
That’s why my Young are so damn Restless.
[i] am the bulging, pounding phallic anxiety of a nation. You don’t know whether to
emasculate me, incarcerate me, infect me, or ejaculate me. That’s alright ‘cause [i] can’t help but
touch myself when [i] walk.
The music in my rhythm gives me more bounce to my beat. [i] am JSU and Tougaloo, the public and private HBCU. And one day [i]’m gon’ use my education
to engineer my sovereignty.
Until then [i]’ll keep funking my blues on the one.
Poverty and oppression are
jus’ more opportunities to be great.
[i]’m too bad to die, too proud not to live
and too funky not to enjoy it all.
The only time that [i] give up my wooly-headed existence is so that others may have everlasting life.
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3. |
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nope
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Quickfix Recordings UK
Quickfix Recordings is an independent label based in Oxford, UK. It was started with the aim of giving the flagging music industry a much - needed shot of musical excitement. Over ten years down the line and after many releases (including debuts by bands such as Youthmovie Sountrack Strategies and Smilex) Quickfix Recordings continues to push new music. ... more
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