The Poet

Quick, call the police;
The Negroes are barbecuing at the lake.
Quick, call the police;
The Negroes are drumming too loud
Quick, call the cops
The colored choir is singing too loud.
Quick, call the cops’
That pregnant Negro’s belly is swollen;
Search that shoplifters belly!
Quick, call the cops;
Those Negroes are driving while black.
Quick, don’t call the cops.
It’s “Stand your ground” time
Shoot that colored kid
Who dared to walk in our neighborhood!
Quick, call the cops;
Those Negroes are entering their own house.
Quick, call the cops;
That little colored girl is selling water.
Quick, call the cops;
Three colored boys are standing in front of my house.
I want the Negroes’ hood,
But I don’t want the Negroes.
Quick, call the cops!