Every single good thing that could happen to a black man is happening tomorrow
I've been dreaming about good things coming to Los Angeles: snow, Monty Python, but that's nothing in comparison
We'll start by collecting the tiger butter from the base of the tree and putting it on our pancakes
You'll walk through Westwood alone without being stopped once by the cops
And when you exit stores, you'll have to announce, "I'm through shopping everyone!" or no one will notice.
Those purple blotches on your back will go away and the bank will give you a loan to produce a jazz CD
Your unbelievably dysfunctional family will transform into clean & sober, non child-molesting Puritans with a penchant for book learning
They'll have lost all spirituality and rhythm, but you can live without that

I guess the slavery-poverty-discrimination chicken came first before the egg
But damnit you're a brand new egg
and the chicken is being slaughtered tomorrow

I wonder how it would feel to realize you've been shortsheeting your own bed for years
But then I remember I don't need to wonder. I know.
There'd be a sense of freedom
mixed with grief over all those nights of kicking the blankets