I don’t have one.
I don’t buy none.
I don’t borrow none,
I don’t crave none.

No!
I don’t want a single one
of those racist bones,
not underside my ribs,
not shielding my head,
not ‘tectin’ my heart.

No!
When i’s an innocent child
i’s not born with some those
racist bones,
and Mother don’t love me
racist bones,
and books don’t read me
racist bones,
and friends don’t friend me
racist bones.

No!
But just a second young man,
now I been thinkin’ ‘bout it
long time, goodly while,
indeed, mosta my life--

despite I lovin’ LeBron
and marvel that Stephen Curry pest,

why do my soul keep hopin’

yeah, hopin’,

quietly,
so
nobody see me,
nobody hear me,
nobody know me,

and if I don’t have no racist bone,
growing inside me,
secret in my mind somewheres,
crouched down my heart chambers,
camouflaged in my soul,

all invisible like,

then,

why,
I’m askin’ you why,

do I keep hoping some skinny

white kid come along,

and put a stuffin’ on LeBron,
and hold Mr. Curry to 18 measly,

all the while putting up
a grand 42 and 12 assists
himself
on any given Saturday night?

If I got no racist bone,
then why am I thinkin’ that way?

Somethin’ not right here.

Could it be possible i got 'fected somehow
with one them racist viruses,
and it be festerin, my marrow?