guerrillamamamedicine:

Sunni Patterson - We Made It (via illwill718)

you cant damage this soul, darling.  only the blessed even get to touch it. 

—

eta:

the incredible ilyka did a transcription for this piece.  thank you! 

So I’m from the stock that pitch cocktail bombs and hand grenades/ We pour cayenne pepper around the perimeter of a building to keep the police dogs at bay/  I’m the Panther party in the * House in New Orleans/  I’m a n- turning the gun on the National Guards; take a long, long look/  I’m the cook in the kitchen asking the missus to taste the dinner; take a long, long sip ‘cause death ain’t always this good /  It’s eyes poppin’ out they socketsIt’s a lifeless body rockin’ backwards and forwards/  It’s a boy stabbed 47 times in front the church house/ It’s a man 43 years old stuffin’ his penis in a 9-year-old girl’s mouth, no Death don’t always taste good/  Just don’t sound like somethin’ I want to eat often, I hear them say/  It was like a train came through the room/  Left mama so depressed she was unable to move until one day / A few months after the hurricane/  Husband and child found the Trinity bloody in bed/  His wife, son, or daughter dead/  And on the end table there was a letter that read,”I couldn’t stay here Not for one minute longer/  And it made no sense for me to leave here alone/  Because who would take care of my babies with they mama gone?”—I’m telling you,Death ain’t always good.  / It’ll leave you * for water and food / It’ll riddle up your body in the Audubon Ballroom, it’ll Al-Hajj Malik al-Shabazz you/  Crown you king, then dethrone you in a Lorraine hotel/  They’ll disfigure your body to where folk can’t tell And if you Emmett Till or not/  Tell them, mama/  Keep that casket open/ Let all the world see/ It ain’t just burnin’ in Mississippi/ Hell is hot wherever you be / From the rooftops to the cell blocks/ Step on up to the auction block, bend over, touch your toes/ Son, show your teeth/ Lick her titties, examine his balls/ It damn near sound like a hip-hop song, but it’s slavery at its peak A circus for all the freaks/ They’ll warn you, caution when you speak/ Can’t afford the truth to leak/ But when you say “Blessed are the meek,”And all the ones who make peace / And all the ones who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness/ For we say “Theirs is the kingdom,”Earth is their inheritance/ So no matter how treacherous/ They’ll try to trap what’s in them trenches / They’ll dig deeper ditches/ But all that matters is this:Which side will we pick?/ Which path will we choose, either win or lose, ‘cause death don’t come in vain./ Not for us to remain enslaved or our spirits to remain in cages / It comes so we might be courageous/ To fulfill our obligations to our god of all creation and stand in determination/ Able to look Death in the face and say, “We made it, we made it, we made it, we made it.”