Nigrecent, inside-out
Young blaq conscience
Is all I’m about.
The son o’ the soil
Born o’ tears o’ sorrow
And gallons o’ perspiration,
Born o’ the fears o’ ‘morrow
That provoked a million supplications.

Here I am, standing in my forefather’s land
My soul still ‘twixt hay and grass,
Owing to my never lending a hand
To transform a Morgye into a pretty lass...

...

...As a black son
A black young one,
Like a black cloud,
Pregnant with sweet precious water
Ready to quench the thirst of the arid African Soil.

Hear my words
Mark my speeches
Treasure these statements
And be consecrated with mind riches.

The YOUNG BLAQ CONSCIENCE speaks.