El Louie Returns From The Dead

I just dropped in to see
what condition my raza was in.

I see the poets are winning prizes
left and right.

I see the fiction writers are flowering
like Flor y Canto.

I just dropped in to see
what condicion my condicion was in.

I walked through my old barrio,
same old gangs new younger faces.

I see you still have to protect your turf
with knives and guns.

Sure you’re proud and brown,
but nobody pays attention to a clown.

The turf you fight for
still belongs to the white man.

I just dropped in to see
what condition my raza was in.

It could be the Fifties or Sixties,
except that it’s two thousand eight.