Black Pussy

Black Pussy
Or sour-sweet black pussy if history has taste buds

Mellow dudes on jungle street corners were the first to dig it, to really understand it
Proud, spirit-carrying, dues-paid-up brothers
Us, the black pussy loving brothers

Out there, in darkness, stuck in the middle passage of time
We titled it the pearly tongue and hung on
Raised its obstinate, pricky little head on slave-braced fingertips
Danced high up in the slit on Saturday night
Kept hope alive with hardcore, deep, black rhythmic fucking, the best yet

Slithered down to the nitty gritty
Suckled a honey dark titty
Grabbed hold of the hottest ass on earth
Slipped a [?] onto each of your buttock
And thought about chinese arithmetic or the auction block, the holy juicin'
Making it now, through the slim black streets
Heading for sweet mama Do-Right
Sweet Mama Do-Right, a new hair gone-back, body loaded with a new drug, Afro-Smack (GEEZE)

Eyes dug, mind heavy
Easing down finely, from them belly-nippled breasts, tongue out of the soft hot thick, creamy lips
Hips easing into the old Swazi spoon position
Heavy from the pubic [?] of African history (KING)

Dirty grey dogs trail black pussy, smoking black ass through the trash heaps of Harlem night alleys
Through the underbrush of the South African [?]
[?] are gonna run it down to you
Through a merciless 400 year night of attempted statutory rape
Try it, god damn it, [?] through all the symptoms
Almost did we get behind and beyond

Yeah, they tongue, hot [?] for your black pussy
And Congo square at the quad room balls
And it is a protest movement
The white motherfuckers protesting to his society for a shout of your mind blow (GO AHEAD)
Everything else, everything else, he, the pale eyed liar claims to have discovered or foreseen or tasted or smelt first
Everything but one thing (say it)
Black pussy

He, the motherless bastard behind his pasty facade, his IBM machine rib, his automatic toasters, his machine guns, his paper work and triplicate, his long keening nose and his desperate need for everybody else’s land could not conceive of
Not even with astronomical equations, of black pussy

A human rhythm motor in the loins
Sweet John the Conqueroo [?]
Sprinkled on a monstrous black thigh with enough sin for goodness and the [?] to shake the pale bastard into reality (Tell it to them like it is) (teach nigga)

How could the rhythm of this monk understand Sister Sadie’s holy rose?
[?] snatched a piece of the bottom
While Sam waited for the bastard to leave in order to get hairs off his tongue

No, the devils did never understand black pussy
A phenomenon that appeared before recorded history, fully developed, richly talented, sopping sweet with [?] syrup and a hoecake of bread

Bunched down lower in the triangular groove
Looking for all the world like turfs of salt black gardens
Spilling nappy-headed cum in the rear of crowded, loving jungles
On rooftops and black ghettos across the American nation
Splashing cosmic cream onto technicolored fingers in the middle of Oceanic beds
Turnin', twisting, tossing the white light-weight black boo-boo fucker into a trick bae

Groovy hip, heavy humping black bitches with damn cunts split from belly to [?]
Congo cunts, Mandingo gash, Fulani neckbuster, don’t tell me they don’t exist, I know better!
Yoruba twat, Zulu sweat, Swahili slit, Jambos

Black pussy, American tribal knights forced into existence by a continuing tradition

Black pussy and a liberal [?] who’ve never forgotten where it’s at