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King's I Have a Dream speech in jive
Ah HAVE A DREAM...
Dr. Martin Lutha' Kin' Jr.
Ah am happy t' join wid ya' today in whut gots'ta go down in
history as de greatest demonstrashun fo' freedom in de history o'
our nashun.
Five score years ago, some great American in whose shadow we stand
today signed de damn Emancipashun Proclamashun. Dis momentous decree
came as some great beacon light o' hope t' millions o' Brother slaves who
had been seared in de flames o' witherin' injustice. Sheeeiit. It came as
some joyous daybreak t' end de damn long night o' deir captivity. Ya' know?
But 100 years lata', de life o' de Brother still be not free.
Sheeeiit. One hundred years lata', de Brother lives on some lonely island o'
poverty in de midst o' some vast ocean o' material prosperity. Ya' know?
One hundred years lata', de Brother be still languished in de corners o'
American society and finds himself an 'sile in his own land. Sheeeiit.
And so's we've mosey on down here today t' dramatize some shameful
condishun. In some sense, we've mosey on down t' our nation's capital t'
cash some check. What it is, Mama! When de architects o' our Republic
wrote de damn magnificent words o' de Constitushun and de damn Declarashun
o' Independence, dey wuz signin' some promissory note t' which every
American wuz t' fall heir. Dis note wuz some promise dat all dudes -- yes,
brother dudes as well as honky dudes -- would be guaranteed de damn
unalienable rights o' life, liberty and de damn pursuit o' happiness.
It be obvious today dat America gots'ta defaulted on dis promissory
note insofar as ha' citizens o' colo' be concerned. Sheeeiit. Instead o'
honorin' dis sacred obligashun, America gots'ta given de Brother suckas some
bad check, some check which gots'ta mosey on down back marked `insufficient
funds'.
But we refuse t' reckon dat de damn bank o' justice be bankrupt.
We refuse t' reckon dat dere be insufficient funds in de great vaults o'
opportunity o' dis nashun. And so's we've mosey on down t' cash our check,
some check dat gots'ta give us upon demand de damn riches o' freedom and de
damn security o' justice. Sheeeiit.
We gots also mosey on down t' dis hallowed spot t' remind America o' de
fierce urgency o' now. Ya' know? Dis be no time t' engage in de luxury o'
coolin' off o' t' snatch de tranquilizin' drug o' gradualism. What it is,
Mama! Now be de time t' make real de promises o' democracy. Ya' know? Now
be de time t'rise fum de dark and desolate valley o' segregashun t' de
sunlit alley o' racial justice. Sheeeiit. Now be de time t' lift our
nashun fum de quicksands o' racial injustice t' de solid rock o'brotherhood.
Sheeeiit. Now be de time t' make justice some reality fo' all o' God's
children.
It would be fatal fo' de nashun t' overlook de urgency o' de
moment. Dis swelterin' summa' o' de Negro's legitimate discontent
gots'ta not pass until dere be an invigoratin' autumn o' freedom and
equality; 1963 be not an end, but some beginnin'. Dose who hope dat
de Brother needed t' blow off steam, and gots'ta now be content, gots'ta
gots some rude awakenin' if de nashun returns t' business as usual. What it
is, Mama!
Dere gots'ta be neitha' rest no' tranquility in America until de
Brother be granted his citizenship rights. De whirlwind o' revolt gots'ta
continue t' shake de damn foundations o' our nashun until de bright day o'
justice emerges.
Dat be sump'n dat Ah must say t' mah suckas who stand on de warm
threshold which leads into de palace o' justice. Sheeeiit. In de
process o' gainin' our rightful place, we must not be guilty o' wrongful
deeds. Let us not seek t' satisfy our dirst fo' freedom by drinkin' fum de
cup o' bitterness and hatred. Sheeeiit. We must foreva' conduct our
struggle on de highest plains o' dignity and discipline. Sheeeiit. We must
not allow our creative protests t' degenerate into physical violence.
Sheeeiit.
Again and again, we must rise t' de majestic heights o' meetin'
physical force wid soul force. Sheeeiit. De marvelous new militancy which
gots'ta engulfed de damn Brother community must not lead us t' some distrust
o' all honky suckas, fo' many o' our honky brothers, as evidenced by deir
presence here today, gots mosey on down t' realize dat deir freedom in
inextricably bound t' our freedom. What it is, Mama! We cannot walk alone.
Sheeeiit.
As we walk, we must make de damn pledge dat we shall always march
ahead. Sheeeiit. We cannot turn back. What it is, Mama! Dere be dose
askin' de devotees o' civil rights, `When gots'ta ya' be satisfied?'
We kin neva' be satisfied as long as de Brother be de victim o' all de
unspeakable horrors o' honky pigs brutality. Ya' know? We kin neva' be
satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy wid de fatigue o' travel, cannot gain
lodgin' in de motels o' de highways and de damn hotels o' de cities.
We cannot be satisfied as long as de Brother in Mississippi cannot vote
and de damn Brother o' New York believes he gots'ta nothin' t' vote fo'which
t' vote. Sheeeiit.
No, no, we be not satisfied and we gots'ta not be satisfied until
justice rolls down likes wata' and righteousness likes some mighty stream.
What it is, Mama!
Ah am not unmindful dat some o' ya' gots mosey on down here out o'
great trials and tribulations. Some o' ya' gots mosey on down fresh fum
narrow jail cells, some o' ya' gots mosey on down fum areas where yo' quest
fo'freedom left ya' battered by de storms o' persecushun and staggered
by de winds o' honky pigs brutality. Ya' know? Ya' gots been de veterans
o' creative sufferin'.
Continue t' work wid de faith dat hono' and sufferin' be redemptive.
Sheeeiit. Go back t' Mississippi, go back t' Alabama, go back t' South
Carolina, go back t' Georgia, go back t' Louisiana, go back t' de slums and
ghettos o' our Northern cities knowin' dat somehow dis situashun kin and
gots'ta be changed. Sheeeiit. Let us not wallow in de valley o' despair.
Ah say t' ya' today, mah friends, so's even dough we face de damn
difficulties o' today and tomorrow, Ah still gots some dream. What it is,
Mama! It be some dream deeply rooted in de American dream. What it is,
Mama! Ah gots some dream dat one day dis nashun gots'ta rise up and live
out de damn true meanin' o' its creed, dig dis: `We hold dese truths t' be
self-evident, dig dis: dat all dudes be created equal.'
Ah gots some dream dat one day on de red hills o' Georgia de damn sons
o' forma' slaves and de damn sons o' forma' slave owners gots'ta be able t'
sit down togetha' at de damn table o' brotherhood. Sheeeiit. Ah gots some
dream dat one day even de state o' Mississippi, some state swelterin' wid de
heat o' oppression, gots'ta be transformed into an oasis o' freedom and
justice. Sheeeiit.
So's let freedom rin' fum de prodigious hilltops o' New Hampshire; let
freedom rin' fum de mighty mountains o' New York; let freedom rin' fum de
heights o' de Alleghenies o' Pennsylvania; let freedom rin' fum de
snow-capped Rockies o' Colorado; let freedom rin' fum de curvaceous slopes
o' California. Sheeeiit. But not only dat, let freedom rin' fum Stone
Mountain o' Georgia, let freedom rin' fum Lookout Mountain o' Tennessee; let
freedom rin' fum every hill and molehill in Mississippi -- fum every
mountainside let freedom rin'.
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