In Delaware, Twin Poets.

I heard that dreams are
illegal in the ghetto.

Little black girl, you
ain't going to be no dancer.

I heard that dreams are
illegal in the ghetto,

but I am dreammmming.

I heard that dreams
are illegal,

but I am dreammmmming.

I had a dream...

I had a dream that
I was in America.

I was in America.

I was actually in the land
of the beautiful and the

home of the brave.

My boss came into my
office and said hi bob,

how's it going.

Why don't you take off
early and here's that

raise, and as I pulled my
Suburban up to my suburban

home, I got the mail out
of the box I was approved

for another home
equity loan.

Great.

The Girl Scouts are there
ringing the bell with

cookies for sale.

Ding dong.

Of course I bought a box
as Hillary quieted down

Marmaduke who had begun to
bark, and then later on my

wife and the kids took a
bike ride to the park.

Keep up dear.

Whe-, when we got back we
had apple pie with ice

cream on top.

Then we buckled up and
headed on down to Black

Box to get some
videos to watch.

Titanic again?

When we returned, the
kids put on their PJs and

relaxed in the den for
some family time watching

videos, then all these
strangers turned and said

to me, nigger what
are you doing here?

Don't you know that dreams
are illegal in the ghetto.

What are you doing here?

Don't you know that dreams
are illegal in the ghetto?

Those gunshots.

Gunshots ringing in the
heat of the night followed

by screams violently
disrupting my dreams.

You see, in my
neighborhood I don't need

to read the paper, watch
the news to know that

something bad happened
around here tonight.

But once the ambulance
leaves and the police

sirens stop and the crowd
disperses, that silence.

That silence soaked into
my soul, sobering my

senses, and it's often
over-intoxicating society,

and I try to relax.

I try to relax, but the
devil just won't let go.

He keeps pointing to the
signs that are posted all

around me that read dreams
are illegal in the ghetto.

You see, my neighborhood
is the bottom of the

barrel where
drugs get mixed.

Here there are no brothers
and sisters, just confused

brothers and sisters.

Here people drowning in
the backwash of the latest

political scandal.

Here the devil is in sweet
control and dreams are

stole.

And you know there is no
honor amongst thieves, so

dreams are
stolen with ease.

A high school graduate
barely 17 gives up her

college dreams for a pair
of tight jeans and a

chance to be the next
inner city queen.

Shake what your
mama gave you.

In the inner city...in
the inner city checks and

basketballs bounce
with regularity.

Across and over.

Life and death in the
midst with no disparity.

Ghetto you've lived for
nothing and ghetto you've

died for nothing.

Every day blue
skies are gray.

All they know is that
they want to make dough.

We want to get paid kids.

The devil has them chasing
the color of this rainbow,

and at the end there is no
pot of gold, just a pot of

steam, which he exchanges
for their dreams.

You see, bonafide slaves
are made in the devil's

dream tray.

Without dreams you are
equivalent to being

nonexistent.

You see our children
need to be told they can

achieve and that God bless
those who hold onto their

dreams.

We got to take down the
signs so the kids won't

know that the devil is
trying to make dreams not,

not drugs, but he's trying
to make dreams illegal,

but dreams are
not illegal.

Thank you.