In the land of grassdancers and my births rejection,
Death isn't the last answer it's the first question,
To make each sound seem like the worst question,
Sending my people alone into Earth's rectum,
My rap voice doesn't constitute my thoughts,
My plot is to make payments on the blanket you bought,
My unsmooth skin is sin in one movement,
Cause my one true sin in unproven to come through when,
You call it luck or you can call it a win,
Sittin with the scanner callin it in,
I'm fallen to sin when my fathers sin is my olive skin
Like yeah I'ma gravedancer, but on who's grave am I dancin?
Like no its a ghost you better pray its a phantom,
Clinging to these multis like a blanket in the winter,
Like a racist and a sinner I'm just fakin till I'm breakin in the center,
Re-awaken in the river of this orange haze,
Contemplatin my own liver where the thorn lays,
Consentratin but I'm shakin with nothing but frustration and war paint,
So my first son is named after where the storm lays,
I sleep with a women who stays where the white man enters,
Just so she can abort my child, sleepin with his white ancestors,
But hell isnt that just wat my father did,
Without full-blood like where's the honor kid?
And so my problem is I'm stuck in the middle,
Two giant races and fuck I'm so little,
I'm unable to cope with the fact I'm true but just passin the time,
Yellin NATIVE PRIDE! but I'm still lying half of the time