Cultural Exchange
We beat making.
Rump shaking.
Shake body.
Shake ya body, body,
Don’t hurt nobody, body.
We storytellers, rappers of tribes called quest
Moving words off our chest.
We aspiring artists on corners,
Mothers doing hair for their daughters,
Names tatted on gold chains,
Bruthas on boats with high top fades,
We so different, yet the same.
We Ashanti and the Togolese,
From an African country
Or the diaspora missing branches on family trees,
But we,
Show them we’re back.
And we’re still beautifully black.
