With silvered hair and shit-brown eyes, y’all jeered again –
from way downtown, this quarter-nigger’s here again.
Your grin-smacked mug and pig-skinned palms took field, D-line,
and spit some twice-black hatred through your beard again.
I’m twice as fast and half as black, six first-downs proved,
but shutdowns moved aside when you appeared again.
This quarter-nigger think he fly, you laugh. Try hard,
son, they forget you black at all. That smear again.
I’m half the nigga, twice the man, I woulda said,
but all my fourth-black balls had disappeared again.
This quarter-black-assed-quarterback just beat yo ass
but when the whistle blows, you all sincere again,
Finesse your way to play it off, still think you win,
you shake some hands (or throw ‘em) to be feared again.
You flash your pearly teeth – more white than mine – and grin.
You’re back, top black, until I interfere again.
I tint right back into the whites of people’s eyes
‘til quarter-nigger makes my skin unclear again,
and somehow that was fine, it felt just fine to me,
at least your half-black smack had me revered again.
And next time on the field, if you step up on D,
and bring your proudly half-black sneer to me again,
I’ll grin and bear the shade, can’t wait to hear again:
from way downtown, this quarter-nigger’s here again.
