Hummingbirds Cannot Fly

[Intro] 

[Male Vocal]

an as colored,
As you are,
When you look at your skin,
And see brown,
You should know that you are free,
But you do not.
Sweat drips from your forehead to your back,
Stressed while you sleep,
By the weight of society,
Makes us feel we are trapped,
Like oxens’ yoked together,
Confined to the project buildings of Brooklyn.
Brother do you know that you are individualistically free,
You have to know it for yourself first,
Because people will tell you the opposite,
And try to discourage you from achieving a goal.
You feel yourself right there,
At the water,
Don’t you?
Ready to cross to see what’s waiting on the other side,
Too close to where you want to be,
And instead of getting into the water,
You’re listening to the hummingbird in the tree,
That won’t leave you alone,
Singing your toxic family hymns.
Black families have no rights being a victim of poverty.
If all you do is look around and complain,
Then go back and get in the bed,
Nothing will change.


[Guitar Solo]


[Outro]

As the bird sings,
Sometimes a teardrop will fall from my left eye,
Too fast for me to catch,
And before the second can,
I quickly wipe it away.
Sitting at the water,
I stopped being a victim,
And for the first time,
I realized the colored sign I carried around my neck as my only inheritance,
Was loosed the whole time,
I just never took it off,
The song and dance made me feel comfortable,
But I do not like this kind of comfort,
It dictates and controls,
Keeps you aligned with hierarchy systems,
So I told the hummingbird to fly away from my family’s tree,
Your song irritates me now,
It did not adhere.
I climbed the tree and killed him,
Then destroyed the nest to feel personally free at last,
I heard the chains fall,
The Earth rumbled ,
And I fell into the water finally floating safely away.

jazz, funk, rap