My hands are mad ugly
My face is ok sometimes
My mouth often says rhymes
By the dozen..
or
More or less by the second
I don't talk to my cousins
My family is too far
I long to shine afar
and be the light that guides you
like slaves running away
Looking at the northern star
Never led astray
Unlike their ****** brothers
Who wanted them to die
Or plow dirt in the fields
Will you bow and yield?
or is your strength revealed?