One day
You're gonna walk into my house and I’m gonna have on a long African gown
You’ll sit down and say, “The Black…”
And I’m gonna take one arm out then you—not noticing me at all—will say
“What about this brother…”
And I’m going to be slipping it over my head and you’ll rap on about “The Revolution…”
While I rest your hand against my stomach you’ll go on—as you always do—
Saying, “I just can’t dig…”
While I’m moving your hand up and down and I’ll be taking your dashiki off
Then you’ll say, “What we really need…”
And I’ll be licking your arm and “The way I see it we ought to…”
Unbuckling your pants
“And what about the situation…”
And taking your shorts off
Then you’ll notice your state of undress
And knowing you you’ll just say
“Nikki, isn’t this counterrevolutionary…?”

Ever been kidnapped by a poet?
If I were a poet, I’d kidnap you
Put you in my phrases and meter you to Jones Beach
Or maybe Coney Island or maybe just to my house
Lyric you in lilacs, dash you in the rain
Blend into the beach to complement my sea
Play the lyre for you, ode you with my love song
Anything to win you
Wrap you in the red Black green, show you off to mama, yeah
If I were a poet, I’d kidnap you