If it's not my skin tone, its my hair type.
The one thing a bus ride just wont hide.
Like why I am looked at upon just one ride.
I'm different, but it's not just black and wait.
Or is it? Because I'm African American.
Born with the power to make fear,
across a chair, and make people stare.
Because thy believe, in the idea.
What is it? Because I am different,
I am a thief, I cant afford to live the New York City Life style.
So I am here to hurt,
here to be feared,
here to not be there.
No one doubts,
with just a stare,
right in their eye,
just a bus ride, just sitting down
the idea that I give, that I can never here.
But I can't let it stop me.