bruddaz

God got his hands on Us.

Us Strong.Us Blessed. 

When I say us I mean all us. 

All my brothers, and cousins, and nephews, and aunties

All my uncles, and parent; God got his hands on us. 

Us Prosperous. Us Rich. 

When I say us I mean all us. 

All of Garfield, from UpTop stretched down to the valley. 

All my “Bruddaz,” the Bloods ones, the ones I call family. 

All my friends who got roots here, buried deep in these hills, 

In those gentrified spots they like calling Bloomfield; God got his hands on us. 

Us Royal. Us Famous. 

When I say us I mean all us.

All those renaissance Black folk who made culture, in they brick homes,  

All the nameless and unknowns, who kept jazz in they tail bones.

All the August and Teenies, and gypsies and genies: God got his hands on us.

Us Foreva. Us Timeless.

When I say us I mean all us. 

All the East Side hoods, all ghettos and grinders, 

All the hard workering parents and providers, 

All the gangsters and 9 to fivers; God got his hands on us. 

ALL US!