The Last Poets
Time
[Umar Bin Hassan]
Time, time is a ship on a merciless sea
Drifting toward an abyss of nothingness
Until it can be recharted for its own destiny
Time is an inanimate object paying and paying and paying for no justification for belief
Time is dancing, boogalooing-away all memories of past experience
Dancing away all thoughts of personal and collective manifestations
Dancing, dancing, dancing
Until you become a slave of rhythm and you no longer seek freedom
Dance dance dance dance till there's no more time to dance
Time is being caught up in a web of fetal self
Until you become inhuman, something to be controlled
Time is nothing to niggers and negroes
Time is nothing to y'all
Time is gettin' high…
Go on to a foreman thinking that the next time you can do it again
Time is running, time is running, time is running out on black power advocates in the day and white thighed supporters at night
Every time you see them, they're chasin' some white woman with their tongue hangin' out
Time is running and passing, passing and running, running and passing, passing and running
Like Hollywood n***as who ain't got nothing better to do with their time than keep their heads glued between the thighs of some Hollowwood bitch who has gonorrhea of the mouth and syphilis dripping from their mind
Time is running
Time is running
Time is running
Time is running
Time is comin' to
Time is comin' to a
Time is coming to an
Ain't no more
Give me five more minutes, baby baby
Please give me five more minutes
I just need five more minutes
Niggers and negroes y'all and all better get right
And this time while the time is good
'Cause there might not be no next time...