Well he said, “I’m from the Motherland,” with a fist up in the air
But he never met his kinfolk, just a dream and a vacant stare
His granny said “You’re Indian, boy, from these southern Cherokee lands”
But he traded truth for textbooks, put his roots in someone else’s hands
[Chorus]
🎶
Now he’s singin’ I’m a five dollar African,
Wavin’ flags he don’t understand
Wants Wakanda but he won’t leave the land
Where his granddad worked with his own two hands
Got a self-defeated mind and a Facebook plan
While the Africans laugh and clap their hands —
He’s a lapdog for a dream, not a free-born man!
🎶
[Verse 2]
He mocks the folks who know they’re home, who say, “We’re Creek and Choctaw kin”
Calls 'em liars, calls 'em crazy — but it’s projection from within
'Cause it’s hard to face a mirror when your past don’t match your flag
So he fights his own reflection, and he wears it like a mask
[Breakdown – Harmonica + Banjo Solo]
[Verse 3]
He won’t move to Lagos, won’t touch that red sand soil
Won’t build a hut, won’t plant a seed, just stuck in mental toil
He don’t read no Dawes Rolls, won’t ask about his name
He’s just prayin’ to an image in a history book of shame
[Chorus]
🎶
Now he’s hummin’ I’m a five dollar African,
With a made-up past and a marchin’ band
But he won’t leave Georgia, won’t give up spam
Wears a kente cloth but eats his grams
He shouts for kings that don’t know his clan
While his grandma’s ghost just shakes her hand —
“Lord, that boy done traded truth for sand…”
🎶
[Bridge]
His roots ain’t in the Nile, they’re in the Black Belt clay
But the system fed him fairy tales and washed his mind away
Now he scoffs at kin who claim their land — calls 'em fools and clowns
When it’s his own blood that’s buried deep beneath them sacred grounds
[Final Chorus – Slow, then builds]
🎶
So he’s stuck, a five dollar African,
Wrote off grandma’s wisdom and her gentle hands
He’s a ghost in a borrowed motherland
With no drumbeat, no tribe, no stand
Just memes, scams, and a second-hand brand
While the real ones trace their tribal strand —
He’s a five dollar African... lost in the sand.
🎶
[Outro – Soft Banjo Pickin']
(Spoken word, with a grin)
"Granny told him the truth, but he listened to the school...
Now he’s got kente dreams and no family jewels."
“Shoulda just asked Grandma.”