What's the market price on a black life?
Epitaph for Tamir Rice
Tossed could-have-beens down wishing wells
To straighten fruits, was only twelve
Sunday dreams for would-be teens
Stunting free on the hungry streets
Basic rhymes on logic beats
Pocket full of sticky sweets
Cheeky grins and childish sins
Skipping class to chill with kin
Oily face and chicken wings
The horizon still held brighter things
Sessing over TikTok dances
3-Point miss and second chances
Juicy miss and second glances
Straight-up dissed and bredren laughing
Drunken uncles, couch and porches
Horror stories from the '40s
Back then, it was horses and torches
Now, they got cars and badges
Reaper said, "You're too young, bro
Should be home on your console"
Bullet holes right through your torso
I had a dream I was wanted
The way I grew stubborn
Gazebo held those final scenes
Winter snow, carpets of greens
Said he looked old for his jeans
Black boys often look like fiends
Pellet gun that belonged to friends
Like he borrowed someone else's end
Like someone else's sis in cuffs
Like some other mother's heart in knots
Like what could've been, what could've been
Parking tickets, nothing more
Screwface over evening chores
Miseducation or the score
The ones who could've made you blush
Backseat eyes and cold blood rush
Trophy kiss in empty courts
Black and naked like all sorts
Spring rain and awful thunder
Hungry texts to former lovers
Ghana trip to see the wonders
Beach party with brand-new brothers
Smiling like the summer god
We find joy against the odds
Holy water over sons
Holy water
I had a dream I was wanted
The way I grew stubborn
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