Generation

Like our depression laid under the sun

The healing has only begun

 

Our generation is bunch of fist fighting revolutionaries

But half of us can't read a word out the Webster dictionary

There's no contrary, if most us have never stepped foot in the library

But we brag on how we already chose our cardboard grave in a cemetery

Our artillery is not our words, but a jab to be heard

We unwind our wrists, buckle our fists

War, unlike basketball, doesn't need assist

Fight or flight we rather let innocent blood rip and pierce the night

We continually think left is right

until we see the blinding light

So white you thought Taylor Swift got in a bullfight

 

They speak jimmy choo and new bags and how hot sauce equals swag

But we don't talk about how police mistake us for animals who wag

How we'll never be front page on the runway or celebrity Mag

And how our mindsets are clothed in rags

And how our souls still carry a price tag

 

They call it the home of the free, and home of the brave

I call it home of the debris and home of the slave

Step out of an invisible line, you've misbehaved

It's weird how the color chocolate is what people do not crave

Our society is beginning to concave

And how this sage has to be lyrically uncaged

I don't have Afro puffs, but I'm a lady who's feeling the rage