This morning, I saw a video on the internet called “Thug Cycle.”
It was about a black toddler being taught to curse. The parents thought it was a big joke.
It reminded me of the early nineties when I was in a cab with a black Jamaican, his young son and my rap music producer. The Jamaican was waving a gun around like he was Annie Oakley under his dreads.
We were on our way to the studio where I was working on my rap song, “The Renegade Jew.”
(Caution – the language is not for everyone.)
The kid, son of the Jamaican, kept telling the cab driver he was a M*****F’er and other crude things and that he should drive faster. Everybody thought this was funny but me.
I wondered, where was the black community to police its own crude indiscretions? Al Sharpton should spend more time going after black on black crime and family cruelty than blaming whites or cops for trying to correct their behavior.
Reform starts from within, not from throwing stones at other people’s glass houses. Hurting others doesn’t stop blacks from hurting themselves.
There were times when I was hanging out with black rappers and black boxers that I wished that I were black so that I could lead my brothers out of their self-destructive behavior. I liked my black friends. I felt they had good hearts.
I didn’t want to see the liberal whites leading them down the gutter of hatred, jealousy and welfare. I wanted to help them stand up and become as good as they could be.
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