Cops And Robbers

I wanna go back to when we used milk crates for basketball hoops.

When "hands up, don't shoot," was for B-boys blocking jump shots.

Now, Brown boys blocking cop shots.

Instead of hoop dreams, it's now cell blocks.

Instead of hoop dreams, it's now grave plots.

Give me shirts versus skins instead of blue versus Black.

The call for racial justice…

Seven, eight, nine…

- I wanna go back to… -…ten!

…when hide and go seek became hide and get got.

When kids played doctor and gave out cootie shots.

Now kids get shot whether they hide their hands or not.

Chalk-outlined bodies instead of chalk for hopscotch.

- - Stop, hands up!

I wanna go back to the day when Mother, May I? was the game we'd play.

"Mother, may I jump? May I crawl? May I walk this way?"

Now "May I"s are the cries of a mother's mourn,

asking "May I identify the body of my daughter, my son?"

"May I understand why he's dead when he was unarmed?"

"May I fight for her name without slander or harm?"

"May I assume she resisted 'cause her body was twisted?"

"May I believe he couldn't breathe 'cause his throat was constricted?"

"May I… march in the street without getting evicted?"

"May I have a fair trial, get his killer convicted?"

"May I rage for a moment for my baby who suffered?"

"May I say, 'Fuck the system'?"

"Mother…

may I am his mother."

I wanna go back to when…

we played red light, green light.

Now red light, blue light is my nightlight.

Where boogeymen hide beneath beds,

like ghosts in hooded white sheets to snuff out black lights in the streets.

'Cause no black light seems to convince others of what was always evident.

Like a blue dress covered in president,

a black light always sees what a dick does at night.

But niggas is the absence of light, right?