In the end you must've rumbled hard, Brotha.
Swinging round house left hooks and unleashing hard
Right hands even in handcuffs and shackles--
Cuz you vowed to go out fighting.

Outside, a gaggle of news cameras
Whirled while the fake Black
Revolutionaries marched toting
Empty carbines and unloaded shotguns--
But you couldn't have heard the pistol packing
Rednecks in ten-gallon cowboy hats tell them,
"Boy, you'd bedda git yo' Black ass outta de state
A Texas 'fo the sun sets"--
And they left much earlier.
The one they call "Mega" was seen
Partying with the White girl afflicted
With jungle fever on Big Brother.

You were the only true Soldier left.
Justice for a Black man is a long
Thin bridge snaking across a filthy river.
They may have murdered you, Brotha.
But they can't kill Afrika.