My Mother's Daughter - Akua Naru

Yo, uh, uh

My mother’s daughter, she was born on a Wednesday

Bloodline of kings, solid gold rings and kente

Smile full of bling, baby talk lean but

Orisha mount the priest, should have seen it at the bembé

Pop Mondo djembe

Never learned to crawl, she walked out the room gently

Had a car runnin' plus two goons to come get me

Fresh, church dress, silk slip, JCPenny

That young dime piece that Gods envy, Whitney

Houston, purple drinkin' gourds and all histories

Black as the Nuba that born in our city

Umbilical cord torn, lost for four centuries

Turned up on the shores with a cough and corn whiskey *Coughs*

Now full up on war, Fahrenheit at 450

A mean diddy bop, hips sway, implore mystery

Want it all like Beloved, the kitchen sink, the kidney

Everything ain’t enough, tell to fuck with me

Hey, y’all come on down here.

I need someone to change Momma’s TV.

Yeah, put on that—you know, that show that I like.

Yeah, oh thank you baby

Look, my mother used to call us sweet, honey

Town brown, sugar, pudding, cinnamon

Lay in the legs, cornrow head, cradle her innocence

Whisper when she weary to try a little tenderness

Sixth generations on the face, could trace fingertips

Rememberin' the future and past, she moved pyramids

Queen of tenements, the projects, the shrine pilgrimage

A church in the wilderness, graveyard, the infinite

Necklace of lovers, the response, they envy us

Last laugh, treble high notes, Minnie Riperton

Move like Eddie Kane, heart in the house, period

Venus crowned against its own sign, Sagittarius

Moonlight, hold it close for black girls turned blue amethyst

Construct of the crown, you can’t stand that shit

Uh, uh, sanctified scandalous

The newborn, the elder, the sage, the televangelist

Mama say, we’re the crossroad finches

Oh y’all been so good.

You know what?

I got some candy for you.

Hand me my

purse, I think I got some butterscotch or somethin' in there.

Yeah,

here’s some butterscotch