Gil Scott-Heron - Jose Campos Torres lyrics

I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this I had confessed to myself all along, tracer of life, poetry trends That awareness, consciousness, poems that screamed of pain and the origins of pain and d**h had blanketed my tablets And therefore, my friends, brothers, sisters, in-laws, outlaws, and besides -- they already knew But brother Torres, common ancient bloodline brother Torres is dead I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this I had said I wasn't going to write no more words down about people kicking us when we're down About racist dogs that attack us and drive us down, drag us down and beat us down But the dogs are in the street The dogs are alive and the terror in our hearts has scarcely diminished It has scarcely brought us the comfort we suspected The recognition of our terror and the screaming release of that recognition Has not removed the certainty of that knowledge -- how could it The dogs rabid foaming with the energy of their brutish ignorance Stride the city streets like robot gunslingers And spread d**h as night lamps flash crude reflections from gun bu*ts and police shields I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this But the battlefield has oozed away from the stilted debates of semantics Beyond the questionable flexibility of primal screaming The reality of our city, jungle streets and their Gestapos Has become an attack on home, life, family and philosophy, total It is beyond the question of the advantages of didactic n******gisms The motherf**ing dogs are in the street In Houston maybe someone said Mexicans were the new n******gs In LA maybe someone said Chicanos were the new n******gs In Frisco maybe someone said Orientals were the new n******gs Maybe in Philadelphia and North Carolina they decided they didn't need no new n******gs I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this But dogs are in the street It's a turn around world where things are all too quickly turned around It was turned around so that right looked wrong It was turned around so that up looked down It was turned around so that those who marched in the streets with bibles and signs of peace became enemies of the state and risk to national security So that those who questioned the operations of those in authority on the principles of justice, liberty, and equality became the vanguard of a communist attack It became so you couldn't call a spade a motherf**ing spade Brother Torres is dead, the Wilmington Ten are still incarcerated Ed Davis, Ronald Regan, James Hunt, and Frank Rizzo are still alive And the dogs are in the motherf**ing street I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this I made a mistake