back in the day,
ymca was a sign
of the wonders I would set,
sitting on the shoulders
of a joyous black man.

probably thinking,
I'm sitting on millions,
as an NFL star,
never knowing my name,
but just hoping.

but I am sitting on millions,
i'm just not spending it yet.
waiting for the sun to twist
it's waist just a little more,
to see the top and bottom bright

the light is amazing.
I think about the day,
when i could dunk as kid,
and run with the football like a pro.

a sports champion,
but really a black boy
who was gonna be something.
whether it was being the father
of many children.

or never having any
and raising the adopted.

whether it was solving the worlds problem,
or being seen as one.
I would conquer like Muhammed Ali.
while making money in Harlem.

and my name's Mustapha.
meaning Chosen One.
I was born to drill in the good work,
funkify your life.
dont ask me twice how I pleasure
a sweetheart without even
entering the chambers, like....

I'm sane and insane,
at same time.
because I'm a peaceful man,
but never understood the powers at play,
so I gotta keep an open mind.

I can stand for days,
if whatever I'm standing for is worth it.
I always wondered what life meant,
but I accepted how beautiful it was.

I ran with it, and never looked back.
In a world where they are either jealous,
wicked, or tolerant towards your skin,
I move smooth, talk smooth, look smooth,
charity has kept my bones strengthened.

and where I am now,
is in no comparison to where I will be.
I wear my kufi as a salute and love,
for my origin and my culture.

and my sons and daughters,
will rock the smoothness,
like they been sliding on
oil they whole lives.

favor my life oh God.
whether in richness or whether it's just enough,
nothing will ever pull me,
from believing in your wonderful love.

this beauty I feel.
is something I didn't deserve,
but it was given to me anyway.

so I remember those days,
as a black kid,
winning and pumping,
at the ymca.