Etheridge Knight - For Freckle-Faced Gerald lyrics

Now you take ol Rufus. He beat drums, was free and funky under the arms, f**ed white girls, jumped off a bridge (and thought nothing of the sacrilege), he copped out—and he was over twenty-one. Take Gerald. Sixteen years hadn't even done a good job on his voice. He didn't even know how to talk tough, or how to hide the glow of life before he was thrown in as “pigmeat” for the buzzards to eat. Gerald, who had no memory or hope of copper hot lips— or firm upthrusting thighs to reinforce his flow, let tall walls and buzzards change the course of his river from south to north. (No safety in numbers, like back on the block: two's aplenty. three? definitely not. four? “you're all m**ms.” five? “you were planning a race riot.” plus, Gerald could never quite win with his precise speech and innocent grin the trust and fists of the young black cats.) Gerald, sun-kissed ten thousand times on the nose and cheeks, didn't stand a chance, didn't even know that the loss of his balls had been plotted years in advance by wiser and bigger buzzards than those who now hover above his track and at night light upon his back.