Go Home by Jive Poetic Lyrics
My neighborhood was a festival, full of funk, and soul, and hip-hop, and fist fight, and gun pull, and smoke clear, and finger cross for speaker box kick drum to return barbeque pit block party without missing step. These moments of explode, and relax, were used by my mother to teach survival.
Rule number one: Always know it is time to go home.
Summer camp was free lunch in a park, then back home.
Trip to Manhattan, then back home.
No matter where you were, if those street lights came on and you were not home, a problem.
If Mama had to look for you, if community got involved, a problem.
And solutions never came easy, we still have not solved what happened to little Tasha.
And Mama used to say: "be aware of emergency vehicles, police cars, sirens, screams, cries, tears. All emergency vehicles. Be aware of how far away they are, how fast that far close, closer, how close that close far was too late. They're tardy."
Always made us the most almost riots.
Always made them the most almost panicked.
Always answer their cavalier with middle finger and curse words spoken in thrown bottle dialect.
Always raged into flames, as if our bodies were built from the kiss of match and gas can,
Because we have not forgotten Carmela Stevenson was alive when them sirens came.
Dead when negligence dropped her from gurney to sidewalk.
And mama used to say, distraction will get you killed.
Pay attention to your environment.
Pay attention to your environment.
People, are temperamental environments, they change without warning.
Somebody once said, "Man, imma kill Rasta Mike"
Said "going to" and "kill" in the same sentence, didn't see Rasta Mike again until a dark alley coughed up his body.
Never let your mouth write a check you can't cash.
Careful when cashing a check not written to you.
To be nosey is to be suicidal on Jefferson Avenue.
Exercise caution around strange animals.
Mama used to say "language, is a strange animal"
it hunts in subliminal subtexts. When tone and posture clash, bites will not be tooth and nail. They will be inside joke between hi-five and knee slap. As soon as summer camp extended beyond day trip and styrofoam lunch tray, counselors spoke to me in raggedy patchwork of street slang and condescension.
Humor taught my skin to feel black in mixed company.
To feel black in mixed company is to suspect sidewinder inside innuendo, as soon as you identify the laughter of rattlesnakes tale. Do not run
do not cry
thin skin will only get you eaten alive in these streets.
We still don't know what happened to little Tasha.
Still don't know who killed Rasta Mike.
Still do not need to not know what happened to
You too have instincts for a reason.
Use them.
Use them like childhood street lights.
They will always tell you when it is time to go home.
Rule number one: Always know it is time to go home.
Summer camp was free lunch in a park, then back home.
Trip to Manhattan, then back home.
No matter where you were, if those street lights came on and you were not home, a problem.
If Mama had to look for you, if community got involved, a problem.
And solutions never came easy, we still have not solved what happened to little Tasha.
And Mama used to say: "be aware of emergency vehicles, police cars, sirens, screams, cries, tears. All emergency vehicles. Be aware of how far away they are, how fast that far close, closer, how close that close far was too late. They're tardy."
Always made us the most almost riots.
Always made them the most almost panicked.
Always answer their cavalier with middle finger and curse words spoken in thrown bottle dialect.
Always raged into flames, as if our bodies were built from the kiss of match and gas can,
Because we have not forgotten Carmela Stevenson was alive when them sirens came.
Dead when negligence dropped her from gurney to sidewalk.
And mama used to say, distraction will get you killed.
Pay attention to your environment.
Pay attention to your environment.
People, are temperamental environments, they change without warning.
Somebody once said, "Man, imma kill Rasta Mike"
Said "going to" and "kill" in the same sentence, didn't see Rasta Mike again until a dark alley coughed up his body.
Never let your mouth write a check you can't cash.
Careful when cashing a check not written to you.
To be nosey is to be suicidal on Jefferson Avenue.
Exercise caution around strange animals.
Mama used to say "language, is a strange animal"
it hunts in subliminal subtexts. When tone and posture clash, bites will not be tooth and nail. They will be inside joke between hi-five and knee slap. As soon as summer camp extended beyond day trip and styrofoam lunch tray, counselors spoke to me in raggedy patchwork of street slang and condescension.
Humor taught my skin to feel black in mixed company.
To feel black in mixed company is to suspect sidewinder inside innuendo, as soon as you identify the laughter of rattlesnakes tale. Do not run
do not cry
thin skin will only get you eaten alive in these streets.
We still don't know what happened to little Tasha.
Still don't know who killed Rasta Mike.
Still do not need to not know what happened to
You too have instincts for a reason.
Use them.
Use them like childhood street lights.
They will always tell you when it is time to go home.