F.C.G.

[Verse 1]

we hula hoop with the rings of Saturn
our earrings are almost bigger, so you know we get at em.
the atoms in the atmosphere are same as those in our bodies
and so we’ll always feel connected, even as we hear shotties,
as we lay up at night and be prayin for our babies,
pray they really grow up to respect themselves, be ladies, be men
it’s crazy–cuz the images don’t show that,
but I know that ain’t reality
somebody’s twisted vision of me, clouding me
it’s crowding me
I feel it closin in on all sides
my periphery is filled with big white lies
I wrote this on white paper with light blue lines
and I did it to get high like I was doin white lines
write lines in my head, that way they ain’t hard to find I
close my eyes and just feel sometimes
hear the music in my head, when I rock, when I rhyme
It is not a front step
I climb
I chime:

[Hook]
won’t somebody, anybody, please
sing a black girl song
cuz our stories, they getting em all wrong all wrong
and we’ve been trodded on this press too long (too long)
sing a black girl song.

won’t somebody, anybody,
please
sing a black girl song
cuz our stories, they getting, all wrong, all wrong
and we’ve been trodded on this press too long (too long)
sing a black girl song

[Verse 2]

we daydreamin’ when they say that we frontin
just fantasize we can afford everything that we stuntin
it makes us feel as if we’re just a little more of somethin
and in the end we’ll recognize that it’s in US what we huntin
a hundred different ways they wade through us,
only graze the surface
and it betrays our depth on purpose, and we be nervous
as they givin paper bag tests with hair grades
you would think that we were still slaves, it’s depraved
it deprives us of seein who we are
exactly how light do you have to be to be a star?
and here’s another riddle: how much weave do you need?
how many pictures of your back, you lookin back over your sleeve?
how much time does it take, for you to cure self-hate when you’ve seen nothing but these images since you was like eight
months . . . ?
yo it should be a throne for us.
but for now, that’s a whole different zone from us,
so won’t
somebody, anybody, please
sing a black girl song
cuz our stories, they getting ‘em all wrong – all wrong
and we’ve been trodded on this press too long (too long)
sing a black girl song
won’t somebody, anybody, please
sing a black girl song
cuz our stories, they getting ‘em all wrong – all wrong
and we’ve been trodded on this press too long (too long)
sing a black girl song

[Verse 3]

we double-dutch by the light of the moon
and hang our attitudes up like posters in rooms
cuz we supposed to be hard, but we’re readin a script
and just deliverin the lines with emphasis
the emphasis is on our asses too much
is it asking too much
that we be seen as people, not just body parts to touch
. . . but that’s a touchy subject, guess it doesn’t matter, does it?
they just want us to dance . . .
shake what’s in our pants.

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