Excuse My French

Fucked up simpletons with visions of grandeur fucked up my equilibrim.
Fucked up over-achievers with mommy or daddy issues fucked up my balance.
Then again I’m a product of both sets
The common factor between the two numbers
The weaklink connecting two chains

These cats got jokes.
Or rather I’m the joke.
5’5″ with black eyes.
Blacker skin. Dead mind.
Red lips. fair thighs. White mind.
Fucked up mentality with these assholes drilling me.
You feeling me.
The epitome of an anomaly
Only when its been jinxed up with asshole pretensciousness and uncommon fuckery.
Or more like common fuckery.
Cos I’ve been fucked over and I have fucked up so many times no wonder I’m a pussy.
I say the things I wanna say to my pen and paper.
Whisper my dreams out the window to the cool September wind.
Cos that’s the only way for me to live.

“All you’ve gotta do is look pretty”

Even that is unsuccessful.
Cos apparently my skin isn’t light enough.
Fuck all your opinions about the things that dont matter.

Telling me i gotta push my talents and live my dreams but say i can’t rap cos i’m a girl and
“baby doll, thats unladylike”.

Tell me to love who ever I wanna love but not him cos he’s not Asante.

Tell me to dress how ever I want but not like that, cos thats not “in” this season.

Tell me to be me,
“be yourself doll. BeYOUtiful”
But constantly reminding me that “Ugly starts with U” and I’m being wierd if i’m different.

Fucked up ideologies about fucked up things.
Fucked up people and my fucked up dreams.

My minds in chains.
I’m my own warden.
my mind’s hell in heaven.
Or the other way round…
i’m my own angel.
I’m my own demon.
I’m my own nemesis.
Hiroshima as the atoms divided.
Thats fucked up.
I’m fucked up.
Damn… I’m fucked up.