The color of cotton and
the color of my skin, plus
the color of candor for
this cloth I’m in –
when is a t-shirt just a t-shirt,
when there’s no feelings hurt, pride in the dirt?
Battle cries stated at the front line;
these harsh words stay on my mind:
‘Black man, don’t ever wear something that represents America.’
‘I wouldn’t be caught dead in that shirt; I hate America.’
They’re fed up, can’t you see? No
patience for false liberty. As
for me, D-O-N-T-E, to
burn garments? I’m not ready.
They’re fed up, and I am too, for
falsehood in and out of view, but
head to toe, glasses to shoes, to
burn garments? No can do.