(no subject)
So I wrote a piece after a slam poetry meeting today, R&R always appreciated!!
The White Girl and the Ghetto
What are you looking at?
Thinking ‘just some scrawny white girl,
She won’t have a beat’
And you’re probably right
But how am I supposed to show
The fire in my voice and how it sparks and spits and burns
And the anger in my soul and how it barks, bitches and churns
The smarts that I have gotten from when I’ve been on the streets
I may be from the ‘right side of town’ but that doesn’t mean I’ve got no rhythmn
No rage, no wrongs done to me, no reason for my art
You can make up your own explanations for my constant inebriation
Cause I’ve tasted more of racist life that you would ever think
I’ve smelled the gunshot residue of the ghetto in my dreams
I look like quite the southern belle, with all my ‘sirs’ and ‘ma’ams’
Don’t see to all the times that my friend’s
Lives and deaths are on my hands
I’ve tasted that of city life, the butterfly of hate
That grew from one man’s hate for kin and now it’s just too late
To save the slums and gangsters, be they black or white or you,
I’ve seen that hate and war and all the shit that it’ll do
So make up your excuses, “Oh, they’re hurt, oppressed, they’re poor”
I don’t give a rat’s ass about the situations they come from
I just care about the hell you put the ones they love through
So next time that you think that some white girl has no beat
You think about me
I’ve stared death in the face so many times
That it doesn’t even faze me
And I just spit at him.
The White Girl and the Ghetto
What are you looking at?
Thinking ‘just some scrawny white girl,
She won’t have a beat’
And you’re probably right
But how am I supposed to show
The fire in my voice and how it sparks and spits and burns
And the anger in my soul and how it barks, bitches and churns
The smarts that I have gotten from when I’ve been on the streets
I may be from the ‘right side of town’ but that doesn’t mean I’ve got no rhythmn
No rage, no wrongs done to me, no reason for my art
You can make up your own explanations for my constant inebriation
Cause I’ve tasted more of racist life that you would ever think
I’ve smelled the gunshot residue of the ghetto in my dreams
I look like quite the southern belle, with all my ‘sirs’ and ‘ma’ams’
Don’t see to all the times that my friend’s
Lives and deaths are on my hands
I’ve tasted that of city life, the butterfly of hate
That grew from one man’s hate for kin and now it’s just too late
To save the slums and gangsters, be they black or white or you,
I’ve seen that hate and war and all the shit that it’ll do
So make up your excuses, “Oh, they’re hurt, oppressed, they’re poor”
I don’t give a rat’s ass about the situations they come from
I just care about the hell you put the ones they love through
So next time that you think that some white girl has no beat
You think about me
I’ve stared death in the face so many times
That it doesn’t even faze me
And I just spit at him.