- On the subject of minstrels, here's a little poem called
"Is, Ain't."
It looks like this, and perhaps I
will show you a larger, blown-up image of that in a moment.
But for now.
[POPPING]
[VIDEO PLAYBACK]
- Blackface is the shadow nothing makes, a smiling alibi.
One of us isn't here or ain't.
Or one of us ain't not isn't here.
Or one of us ain't.
Blackface is the shadow nothing makes, a smiling alibi.
One of us isn't here or ain't.
Or one of us ain't not isn't here.
Or one of us ain't.
Or one of us here and not one of us.
Blackface is the shuffle bluffing makes,
a stuttering progress.
Feats don't, feats don't, feats don't fail me, don't fail me.
Feats now, feats fail me.
Me fail now.
Blackface is the shovel snuffing makes, a gaping hole.
When you figure your nigger for more necro than negro,
call a spade a spade.
If it doesn't dig it, you can do the dirty work without it.
Blackface is the shimmy shucking makes, a puckered money shot.
These DSL excel at S-ing Ds, pop whites on black butts
pop so whites can have their bukkake and eat it too.
Blackface is the sham that struggling makes,
a tongue in cheek go at it.
We love them.
We loves them not.
We loves thems.
We love thems not.
Till pluck petals leaves an absence of colors.
Blackface is the Shamwow that suffering takes.
A fat lip rouge.
It removes the deepest darkests from the whitest whites
with darker darks, who knew?
Removes the deepest darkests from the whitest whites
with darker darks.
Who knew?
[CRAZY LAUGHTER]
Blackface is sometimes the truth.