He was hardly without vice

Beat women, blew cocaine

He was a true black genius

We won't see his like again

 

Hear the album Jack Johnson

Paean in a universe of black

The travails of a champion

Ring-craft his violent knack

 

Johnson brushed with cops

Neither of them were saints

Human pixels amid the mix

In the picture destiny paints

 

The albums are his statues

Clothing jazz in a new coat,

Should we burn those LP's

Or treasure his every note?

 

No past is black and white, all

Of us badged with human stain,

Iconoclasm seems glamorous,

The same history will remain

 

Miles Davis was our brother

Jazz in the clouds he did pave

No pharisee will ever silence

That trumpet from the grave