*disclaimer for the kiddies. This one has profanity. I apologize.

In oral traditions we are studying African-American poetry. Last class we stood in a circle, and all forty of us “whooped”, which just means stretching out words and singing them. I introduced myself as “Haaaaaaaani HornHornHorn Hanni Horn”. Then we played “the dozens”, which is basically a verbal sparring match where you have to rhyme “yo momma so bad. i saw her with no pants.. ” and then you talk about why she’s wearing no pants. It was good fun actually. A little awkward though, considering we have one actual African American in our entire class. Everyone else is of the european persuasion.

And my teacher, she is the greatest. Her name is Betty Fine and she has this frizzy yellow hair. She wears pointy witch boots and often accidently bumps into desks and stuff. She is also very shy. She is kind of like a mom lady.

Today we actually read poetry from the black panther movement. This was hilarious as Betty urged us to read along with her. The first work we recited was called a/coltrane/poem. I would like to excerpt: (please forgive the profanity. i am just writing how it is written)

“BRING IN THE WITE/MOTHA/Fuckas
ALL THE MILLIONAIRES/BANKERS/ol
MAIN/LINE/ASS/RISTOCRATS (ALL
THEM SO-CALLED BEAUTIFUL
PEOPLE)
WHO HAVE KILLED
WILL CONTINUE TO KILL US WITH
THEY CAPITALISM….
(JUST SOME MO
CRACKERS FUCKEN OVER OUR MINDS.)”

yes, mom/betty fine was yelling “MOTHA F-ER” and telling us to yell it louder. She even went so far as making us say “SHITTTTTT” twice, because we didn’t say it loud enough the first time.

Our second poem was a little less hate-whitey, more shaft-i’m-one-bad-motha. I have chosen to excerpt the following:

“Rap is my name and love is my game.
I’m the bed tucker the cock plucker the motherfucker
The milkshaker the record breaker the population maker
the gun slinger the baby bringer….
I’m a member of the bathrub club: I’m seenig a whole lot
of ass but i ain’t taking no shit….
And ain’t nothing bad ’bout you but your breath” - Rap’s Poem

File this under: Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Posted in VT