Funkin' Lesson - X-Clan, Brother J

Freedom or death, we shall all be moved

Vanglorious

This is protected by the red, the black, and the green

With a key, sissy!

Abracadabra, Allah baby, professor

All hail Funkin' Lesson

Sweet tongue, grand writer of scrolls

Now behold, let the legend unfold

Born in a cosmos, with no time and space to exist

Vibe in the midst of the chaos

Mortals label me as illogical, mythological

They couldn’t comprehend when I brought the word

A stick called verb, a black steel nerve

Teaching those actors and actresses

Who write a couple of lines on what black is, really?

Then they label me a sin

When a brother just speaks what’s within

I guess I’m blacker than the shadow in the darkest alley

That they’re always scared to go in, boo!

I wear boots and beads, bags and braids

Stick and scrolls, rings and shades

Walk in the light of the moon but I’ve never been a Batman

African call it Blackman

Brother extracts your African steps in your movements

Enhance for improvements

Grand funk, a new home for the phrase

Funkin' Lesson the pathway

Ready or not here we come

Gettin' down on

The one which we believe in

One nation under a groove

Can I get it on the good foot

Good God

Let me tell you about blackness

Grits and cornbread how can you act this?

I exist on a plane, where the jar is my brain

I’m living to retrieve self

Antenae my stick

Picture bigger, made of liquor, figure

The pull of the trigger goes zoom not boom

Not a bunch of sissies, but saviors, braver

The red, black, and green

Is just so much more than red, black, and green

You ask what I mean

But yet the sundial shades on lights and dreams

Watch too late, oops, upside your head!

You drop through abyss like lead

Where you going? What’s your speed?

What’s your pleasure? What’s your need?

Trees and branches, roots and seeds

Forwards, backwards, many degrees

Questions, answers, what’s the sum?

We have come

Out of the darkness in panther skin comes doctors

Driving pink caddies

Bearing the remedy to your existence

Yes, it gets blacker, with a Nat Turner lick

Martin, Adam, Malcolm, Huey

There’s a party at the crossroads

I returned from the stone crib

Bringing verbal milk, a stool, and a bib

Be filled of the black sap, from the tri-womb

It flows freely un-attuned

Wheat bread, tasty jam

Come take a stroke to the rhythm of the Grand

Verbalizer coming from the temple of void

Crown from a hat, man from a boy

Onwards ride as I talk of Ra

Converse with Horus, create with Ptah

I ride with Geb to roar with Bast

Aten to Mut

as I ride the raft

Roof of the world I sit, crosslegged, right over left

Drums of dance to drums of war

Who knows the score? Speak no more

Who watches down with the eyes of black?

To the east blackwards

Sissy!

Sissy!