You'll Be Under My Wheels

by The Prodigy

White kids love hip-hop

I don't have that smooth blackness
From Africa's oily voice,
That black oil that white kids rubbed
On themselves in Malcom X posters and black lit classes.
I don't have that presence of grit that would suggest
My history has been anything but
Anglo and ashy white.
But I have words, black as I could ever pray
To become at the age of twelve.
I have words that scream against the white oppression
Of thought and ideas, against emptiness
And the cookie cut carbon copies of whitened paper.
I know how to listen to rhythm
And make my own tribal drum
That pounds in the heat of my mind's inspiration,
It's own nation where words and movement make love;
A conception of poetic convention.