"School Shooting Drill" lyrics - DAVE CHAPPELLE

DAVE CHAPPELLE
"School Shooting Drill"

I came home early from the road. I had a $12,000 suit on, 'cause life's been going good. And I got home early, and dinner was cookin'. You ever come home when dinner's cookin'? Doesn't that smell good? And my son saw me, and he was like, "Dad's home." And he got up from the table and ran over to give me a hug, but he had chicken grease all over his face, so I stiffed on him, like, "Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, my man, my man. Watch these threads, son. This is an expensive suit. I don't want you to get that chicken grease all over me." A-And he was like, "What the f... Chicken grease? Dad, this is duck." Hmm. A tear came out of my eyes. I never dreamt I'd do so well in life that I'd raise a n I g g a with duck grease all over his face. And we sat down, we just talked about everything. I was telling my wife about how my shows were going, and I told her my trans jokes, and she was like, "Oh, I hate that joke." And you know why she hates the joke? 'Cause she's Asian. But you know what I mean? I don't make that face at the house, u-unless we're really fightin'. And me and her, we weren't arguing, but you know what I mean? She's like, "You need to stop doing that."
And then, I tried to change the subject. "Oh, how is school going, boys?" And my son's telling me, "Well, we didn't have school today, technically." I'm like, "What... What's going on?" He said, "Well there was, like, a school shooting drill." I never heard of this. You know what this is? They have drills that they make kids do, uh, where they practice what to do if somebody comes to shoot up their school. I'd never heard of that before. I was like, "What the fuck?" I had to tell my sons the truth. I didn't want to tell them this shit. "Son... Son, listen to me. Fuck that drill. If somebody comes to your school and wants to shoot it up, I'm just gonna be honest with you. You probably gonna get shot, n I g g a. I'm just being real. You got a famous dad. I talk a lot of shit. They gonna be gunning for you, little buddy. Just stay low and run in a zigzag pattern, and don't try to save anybody, son. Do you understand me?" Why would you have kids rehearse for some shit they have no control over? All you're doing is training these kids to worry. It's the stupidest drill I've ever heard of. And while you're in there training 'em during these drills, well, aren't you training the shooter, too? This n I g g a's in here listening and learning like the other kids. Sittin' in the back... "So, where are we supposed to meet? Okay."
All right. If you're a parent, this shit is terrifying. This shit is real scary. All the parents is looking at each other crazy, because we know, as parents, that one of us is raising the shooter. We just don't know which one of us it is. All we know for sure... is that if you're a white parent, the chances that it's you......it's exponentially higher than the rest of us. Shooting up school is a white kids' game. It's fuckin' crazy. You know, I hated school, too. It never occurred to me... kill everybody in school? It's fuckin' crazy. Just do what I did, n I g g a. Try some things. "Have you skipped school, n I g g a? Skip school! Take a walk and meet some other kids. Fuck school, n I g g a. Try drugs. Have you tried drugs out? N I g g a, that might..." Some scary shit. I've given this a lot of thought. I don't see any peaceful way to disarm America's whites. There's only one thing that's going to save this country from itself. Same thing that always saves this country from itself, and that is African Americans. Right. And I know the question that a lot of y'all have in your minds is, "Should we do it?" Yeah. Fuck yeah, we should do it. Listen, no matter what they say or how they make you feel, remember, this is your country, too. -It is incumbent upon us... to save our country. And you know what we have to do. This is a fuckin' election year. We gotta be serious. Every able-bodied African American must register for a legal firearm. That's the only way they'll change the law.