[Intro: Akua Naru]
We made it
We're here

[Verse 1: Akua Naru]
Teenage mom's daddy gone, auction off to the streets
So lost in the sound of racin' heartbeats
Roll across the eyes, crack-cocaine high
Protect and provide for no one but me, myself, and I
Drinkin' between random thoughts, Kangol
Adidas pants with the stripes on the side
Sweet baby, don't you cry, don't you weep, uh
Hip hop on the streets, rock steady, rap city
Fab Five Freddy walkman tape, rewound and ready
[?], palms sweaty
Reefer roll, uh
Old English private stock, brown paper bag
Hide what you got, blow the spot
Big Daddy Kane in every speaker on the block
'Round the way, girls at the bus stop
Around his neck the Flava Flav clock, uh
In every paper, 'nother brother lose his life to the cops
Pour more liquor, leave flowers and pictures in the very spot
High school drop, outlaw, social statistic
New addition, Mister Telephone-Man
Semen drippin', bust a nut and leave children
Pissy elevator in the buildin', milk is chillin'
Escape into the night like an evil villain, uh
Like an evil villain
[Chorus: Akua Naru]
It's one woman and a mic' (One, uh)
It's one woman and a microphone (One)
It's one woman and a mic', y'all, huh
It's one woman and a microphone, uh

[Verse 2: Akua Naru]
Uh, the music soundtrack, our lives, untimely
Parents just don't understand
[?] ice in the hand, damn
In her belly, pork and beans from the can
Two babies before her womb was ripe, call her Mommy
But at night her name Roxanne, Roxanne, I wanna be your man
Youth stolen by teenage love deferred
As they hold hands, fake sensitive
[?] she give in
When she wake they do the running man
Aw shit, that's my jam
Anita Baker in the record player
Prayin' for angels, motherhood got her feelin' strangled
Her wrist, two gold bangles, door knockers in the ears
Dangle, drop the kids off with strangers
With grandmommy 'cause her mommy spank you, uh
Painful to watch her leave, bubblegum jeans
Belle Billie Jean, feathered bang, probably [?], baby eyes watch
As the image fades in the breeze, claim "She get us in the mornin'"
We know it's when she damn well please, red lipstick
Ain't get Halloween, she schemin' on Christmas
Excuse me, miss, wick, voucher collected
Food stamp sellin', you could price ten for seven
Convicted felon, business on phones behind glass
In the letter, sendin' Polaroids of her naked ass
They wanna sex her up, color her bag
Queen get over 'cause she ain't used to and never had
Peek-a-boo mother, huh, your son and daughter love ya
But she never loved herself
Attract men that discover her weaknesses
And suffer through beatings, listenin' to Christopher Williams
Thinkin', "Don't wake me, I'm dreamin'," uh
Don't wake me, I'm dreamin'
[Chorus: Akua Naru]
It's one woman and a mic' (One, uh)
It's one woman and a microphone (One)
It's one woman and a mic', y'all, huh
It's one woman and a microphone

[Interlude: Tricia Rose]
The spirit of the community and—and—and the one, and the individual, is not a spirit that is perfect in all of its expression. So what you have is power in society, people who are valued, people who are given the mic', right? Those with money, those with resources, those with the means of distribution, those with amplifiers, those with religious, spiritual, economic, political, social authority—they get the mic' all the time; they get the mic', they get the recorder, uh, and they get the speakers. Now, a lot of groups of people in society don't have access to that, so even if the spirit of community and individual sharing drives a lot of black music, what we find is that black women's voices have just too often been marginalized in those moments of very important storytelling. Now, of course the tradition is rich: Abbey Lincoln, Nina Simone—uh, you know, all kinds of people—Aretha Franklin—it's been going on and on, sisters have been holding it down. But if you really look at the—the work it takes for women's voices to be heard outside of their expected channels—when they're not talking about sex, when they're not talking about relationships—uh, when they're talking about power, when they're talking about suffering, when they're talking about what it means to be a black woman in a way that maybe doesn't make every brother on Earth thrilled to hear it right away—those women are harder to get heard; those women have a harder time getting the mic', getting appreciated for being on the mic', and for being understood as part of the—the sort of—metaphorical cypher. And I think, you know, that power dynamic has to be challenged; it has to be transformed in such a way that more members of the community who are less heard—um, they have to elbow their way to mic', sometimes, not always, but sometimes—and—and, you know, when they successfully grab hold of the—sort of the—narrative and the space and compel us to listen, they're the most powerful of all because they affirm the tradition and they challenge the tradition at the same time