Song: The Lynchings In Duluth
Written by Toussaint Morrison
June 14th, 1920
I guess you can’t say that you couldn’t see it comin’
Irene just turned nineteen
On her way to the circus on a Red Summer’s eve
In a small northern town by the name of Duluth
Mostly white, then- Mostly white, now. Truth.
After the show Irene ran to the cops
Said she’d been raped by 6 negroes behind the big top
The city lined up one-hundred and fifty
Of the circus workers Irene saw that evening
She picked out six, they hauled’em downtown
And lynched three of’em to an all-white crowd
They hung’em high, they watched’em die
The physician couldn’t find any signs
On Irene’s body of assault or rape
It gets worse, pass me a drink
-
Chorus
Who am I to you in any light?
Everything prologued to now, and this shit still ain’t
right.
Act like you figured it out to help you sleep at night.
I wish Malcolm were around…
Our work’s never done
-
Somebody overheard police chief John Murphy
Say he’s gonna run every negro outta town
So, they fired all the black people from the circus-
Well, fast forward to right now
Minnesota’s number one in racial disparity
The schools have gotten so bad it’s embarrassing
For every twenty-some people of color to get pulled over
One white person gets the same hold up
It’s beyond words, honestly I’m all nerves
In case of emergency, I question who to call first
What’s worst: the discussion’s gone mute
Time passin’ is like an excuse to act aloof
Confrontation turned to Minnesota Nice
And we don’t talk about it ‘til it hits the headlines
No coverage on the Minneapolis northside
When they let the Metro Gang Task Force ride
Yeah, the future’s at stake,
Less than half of these students of color will graduate
They’ll gentrify the hood before they renovate
It gets worse, pass me a drink.
Chorus
They shot Fong Lee, they tazed Quincy Smith
The beat Darrel Jenkins and one out of three lived
I got homies on the force I trust on or off it
But you couldn’t pay me to buy the system’s promise
Some are born on third base, some are born on home plate
Some are born in a homeless shelter
Either you say “Fuck this game”
Or you play with what they dealt ya.
Good talk
Chorus
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