'Twas the night before verdict, when all through the city
Not a creature was sleeping, not even city council committee;
The windows were barred and boarded with care,
With fear that niggers soon would be there;
Judge Cahill was nestled all snug on a break,
With visions of the future ones he would take;
And ‘MAMA’ on her drugs, and I in my cell,
Had just settled to wait what the jury would tell.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my cot to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Looked out through bars and saw a city turning to ash.
The burning of a Target by countless negro,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my disheartened eyes did appear,
But a 2007 Mercedes and 3 junkies in there,
With a big ‘gentle giant’ so high and negroid,
I knew in a moment he must be George Floyd.
More rapid than eagles his overdose came,
And he danced, and shouted, and called his fellows by name:
“Now, Trayvon! Now, Michael! Now, Garner and Tamir!
On, Walter! On, Stephon! On, Breonna and Castile!
To the top of the headlines! to the highest crime statistic!
Now chimp out! Chimp out! Chimp out, go ballistic!"
As whitey before the ‘diverse’ neighborhoods fly,
When their suburb turns to ghetto, and they don’t want to die;
So up to small businesses the niggers they flew
With the streets full of fire, and journalists too—
And then, in a kvetch, I heard those kikes weasel,
And proclaim the rioting was in fact mostly peaceful.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the cell door Floyd came with a bound.
He was dressed in blue jeans, and a black sleeveless shirt
And I knew on his neck some pressure I’d like to exert.
A counterfeit twenty he had in his hand,
And seemed so high he could barely stand;
His eyes—how they glossed! his expression impassioned!
His rapsheet was endless, his nose fucking massive!
His drooling, slack mouth was typical negro,
And his big lips foaming as white as the snow;
A small white pill he held tight in his teeth,
And the drugs, no doubt made it hard to breathe;
He had a broad face and skin tone of a felon,
His feet stank and, of course, he liked to eat watermelon.
Prosecution got up and called him the picture of health;
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
The color of his skin and the shape of his head
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread;
He mumbled some words, but went straight to his work,
And stole all the bananas; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his mouth,
And giving a nod, popped some Percocets out.
He sprang to his car, gave his homies fentanyl,
And away they all ran like from a child support bill.
But I heard him exclaim, as he often did plead—
“SHEIT NIGGA PLEASE, PLEASE I CANT SNEED!”
