Pro-Black posers get paid to expose us & try to rip-out our roots and pollute our culture.

Lost in a Medley of Medication,Concentration’s constantly drifting.Floating like confetti,In celebration of my opposition,Forcing me to watch the Imperfections of Love being pinned into submission.

The Sunlight reflects on,Pieces of clear, green beer glass on sidewalks, Where I Break-dance on broken promises,Trying to repair shattered dreams.

I'm trying to be blessed with a gift to turn pain into productivity.

What happened to the Misstery of Romance?She’s been turned out and sold to perform Pornographic acts.So where is her Happy-Ending?