Cecelia Weir

(March 19,1955 / Fayette, Alabama)

Not Trying To Be Just Another Negro


He plays in the rain
From a distance is the gang.
As he tries to hide his interest
He looks just the same.

He runs and he hides
As he struggles with his pride.
To separate what he's doing
From his feelings deep inside.
Trying Not To Be Just Another Negro.

He grows and goes to school
To learn the golden rule.
But when he practices what he learns
His priorities never gets a turn.

His love for his family
Becomes null and void.
When he tries to get ahead
Trying to keep from being dead.
Trying Not To Become Just Another Negro.

Some blamed his ways on his race
Said he lived too fast a pace.
When all he wanted was a chance
To see the world from a different glance.

Maybe he could have made it
If he had only sang a song.
But what tune would he have sung
When others already convicted him as wrong.
Trying Not To Be Just Another Negro.

Now everyone says he could have made it
If they had only knew.
Just what his dreams and visions were
Just what he wanted to do.

Thats so easy to say right now
When one is dead and gone.
When he never had a pillow
And he never had a home.
Trying Not To Be Just Another Negro.

He passed for white long as he lived
But he never was successful.
For neither of his parents race
Had very much to give.

He thought he had made it
When he almost reached the top.
To only find that life determines
What is or maybe what you're not.
Trying Not To Be Just Another Negro.

He rants and he raves
About how to get revenge.
When deep inside all he needed
Was a chance at life again.

He never saw it coming
How it all would dispitefully end.
Running from the same gangs of oppressions
After he thought his real life began.
Trying Not To Be Just Another Negro.

No one knows the destiny
Of how we all get killed.
Some may live forever
But right now this is life for real.


I guess we will never know
Who could have covered this mans back.
Cause he never had a chance
Before they zipped him in a sack.
Trying Not To Be Just Another Negro.

Old Mothers sob
While young Mothers squawl.
They both resent the day of heartache
They fear receiving the call.

The way the stocks go up
The way the prices fall down.
Can really work you mentally
And cause a nervous breakdown.
Not Trying To Be Just Another Negro.

If you aren't really strong
You can emotionally become dead.
Cause he only took the word
Of what another man said.

Life is superior
And it gangs on you.
Every race has felt its pressures
At any level life takes its dues.
Trying Not To Be Just Another Negro.

Submitted: Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Edited: Tuesday, August 02, 2005

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