They Ain't Hungry
They ain't hungry
They ate when they momma got back from the shiftless shifts
She's been working since she was a misfit kid with baby in belly
Back when the locomotive engine in her laborious body
Was fueled by the thought of failure echoing in those babies' bellies
So she consumed the moment
Ate with praying hands
And on knees
And in public
And begged no pardon
Fed off of the doubters
'Cause she couldn't stomach her babies starving
See she needed them to consume the moment
The overtime she put in
Put plenty plate of food in apartment
Tranquil roof over worrisome warrior head
Warm cloth on cold conquerer skin
Hopeful book on doubtful brilliant desk
Soulful song at night to saturate the street noise
Then a short while ago
Cap and gown covered capable boys
And now they consume the moment
They consume the moment
They consume the moment
But they aint hungry
But you can fix them a snack
Be sure to fix it while you look at their hands
Watch them catch a fiery world on palm and aim long
And hit nothing but life goals even when they aim wrong
Their hands speak of war stories
Stitched together by an archive of prayer finger bones
They be the archetype lex-iconic architects
Writing worlds of streets they know they'll strut better on
Transforming the brick words thrown at their dancing feet
Into artsy rhythmic two stepping stones
Watch them record-scratch up the symmetrical sounds
From your Mona Lisa stereotypos like Pablo Picasso songs
Watch those finger tips
Beautifully stroke the cords
Of everything instrumental to a winner's mind
Watch them play so on rhythm
But so out of sync with the constant red, white, and blue norms
With the constant beat black boys bloody red
If you're white in blue uniforms
Watch them play so skillfully still
As they heartily dine with the moment
Watch how they melodiously consume the moment
My momma was an Alice Walker
In this wonderland of fallen white stars
Who put red stripes on backs if a black had gotten loose
She was some little girl
Who heard a Nat in her ear and let the Nat Turner head
Towards a pink rose growing through the center of a rotten noose
Her little scarred tearful eyes
Paid homage to the sacrifice of the slain
And walked away appreciative but saddened
Asking herself
"How can so much beauty grow from something so tragic"
But she thanked him for what he did
Cherished the moment and started feeding it to her kids
So they aint hungry
But they could all use some snacks
During their break out of mental prisons
Or at the dinner table
After you watch them consume the moment momma been fixin'
So give it some time
Between momma's come back bone and their triumph
The resemblances in their resiliences
Just might have enough room to try them
But I must warn you
It ain't nothing plain about what they savor
'Cause momma got they taste buds accustomed to flavor
So naw
I ain't hungry
They ate when they momma got back from the shiftless shifts
She's been working since she was a misfit kid with baby in belly
Back when the locomotive engine in her laborious body
Was fueled by the thought of failure echoing in those babies' bellies
So she consumed the moment
Ate with praying hands
And on knees
And in public
And begged no pardon
Fed off of the doubters
'Cause she couldn't stomach her babies starving
See she needed them to consume the moment
The overtime she put in
Put plenty plate of food in apartment
Tranquil roof over worrisome warrior head
Warm cloth on cold conquerer skin
Hopeful book on doubtful brilliant desk
Soulful song at night to saturate the street noise
Then a short while ago
Cap and gown covered capable boys
And now they consume the moment
They consume the moment
They consume the moment
But they aint hungry
But you can fix them a snack
Be sure to fix it while you look at their hands
Watch them catch a fiery world on palm and aim long
And hit nothing but life goals even when they aim wrong
Their hands speak of war stories
Stitched together by an archive of prayer finger bones
They be the archetype lex-iconic architects
Writing worlds of streets they know they'll strut better on
Transforming the brick words thrown at their dancing feet
Into artsy rhythmic two stepping stones
Watch them record-scratch up the symmetrical sounds
From your Mona Lisa stereotypos like Pablo Picasso songs
Watch those finger tips
Beautifully stroke the cords
Of everything instrumental to a winner's mind
Watch them play so on rhythm
But so out of sync with the constant red, white, and blue norms
With the constant beat black boys bloody red
If you're white in blue uniforms
Watch them play so skillfully still
As they heartily dine with the moment
Watch how they melodiously consume the moment
My momma was an Alice Walker
In this wonderland of fallen white stars
Who put red stripes on backs if a black had gotten loose
She was some little girl
Who heard a Nat in her ear and let the Nat Turner head
Towards a pink rose growing through the center of a rotten noose
Her little scarred tearful eyes
Paid homage to the sacrifice of the slain
And walked away appreciative but saddened
Asking herself
"How can so much beauty grow from something so tragic"
But she thanked him for what he did
Cherished the moment and started feeding it to her kids
So they aint hungry
But they could all use some snacks
During their break out of mental prisons
Or at the dinner table
After you watch them consume the moment momma been fixin'
So give it some time
Between momma's come back bone and their triumph
The resemblances in their resiliences
Just might have enough room to try them
But I must warn you
It ain't nothing plain about what they savor
'Cause momma got they taste buds accustomed to flavor
So naw
I ain't hungry
Credits
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