MAAFA
By Asafo Weedamiah
Sometimes I feel the whip across I n I forefathers back
Skin discolored red, white, & blue/purple with festering sores
Where they were once perfect black
Though they shackled his blak body, they could never break his mind
He bore the pain by reminiscing of I kingland of ancient time
And how he vowed in his blak heart that someday he will, NO MUST return
To the land of I n I people who faces they say look sunburn
And as he prayed to the God of his ancestors, to deliver all of his children
From the hands of these wicked, evil, cruel, and barbaric white men
And as he asked his JAH, to return the not yet born Afrikan child
To once again play from the heart of the Congo all the way to the banks of the river nile
As he tried to forget how his lover, his sister, even his very mother had been defiled
Gaining comfort from the knowledge that everything is but for a while…
So, he trained his mind, to black out all pain
Choosing to be called insensitive rather than go insane
His blak body scarred by the weight of their whips, their shackles, and chains
Of the 13 blak children he fathered, now look only 3 remain
2 of them were hung, from that great big oak tree
3 of them died, before the tender age of three
4 were sold, 2 of which, were taken far across the sea
1 of them ran away
Cause in his blak heart He “yearned to be free”
And how I great-grandfather taught, those children that still remained
Of the place Itiopia/Afrika from whence we all came
Still not all listened, when I n I great-grandfather spoke
I guess to them being Black Kings and Black Queens sounded like a joke
1 of them listened and this knowledge I did acquire
The Knowledge of I Blak self, I Blak JAH, I Blak King, and I Blak Afrikan Empire
By Asafo Weedamiah
Sometimes I feel the whip across I n I forefathers back
Skin discolored red, white, & blue/purple with festering sores
Where they were once perfect black
Though they shackled his blak body, they could never break his mind
He bore the pain by reminiscing of I kingland of ancient time
And how he vowed in his blak heart that someday he will, NO MUST return
To the land of I n I people who faces they say look sunburn
And as he prayed to the God of his ancestors, to deliver all of his children
From the hands of these wicked, evil, cruel, and barbaric white men
And as he asked his JAH, to return the not yet born Afrikan child
To once again play from the heart of the Congo all the way to the banks of the river nile
As he tried to forget how his lover, his sister, even his very mother had been defiled
Gaining comfort from the knowledge that everything is but for a while…
So, he trained his mind, to black out all pain
Choosing to be called insensitive rather than go insane
His blak body scarred by the weight of their whips, their shackles, and chains
Of the 13 blak children he fathered, now look only 3 remain
2 of them were hung, from that great big oak tree
3 of them died, before the tender age of three
4 were sold, 2 of which, were taken far across the sea
1 of them ran away
Cause in his blak heart He “yearned to be free”
And how I great-grandfather taught, those children that still remained
Of the place Itiopia/Afrika from whence we all came
Still not all listened, when I n I great-grandfather spoke
I guess to them being Black Kings and Black Queens sounded like a joke
1 of them listened and this knowledge I did acquire
The Knowledge of I Blak self, I Blak JAH, I Blak King, and I Blak Afrikan Empire
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