To the models on runways, ribs protruding, who walk the plank to only stop, pose, and turn away, remember, it's survival of the fittest,

To that cancer patient, who's dream is to someday regain the everyday feeling of their own hair against their warm hand, remember, it's survival of the fittest,

To the back alley junkies, who are stuck in the closing hole of their own personal hell, arms stretched, hands open, screaming for help, remember, it's survival of the fittest,

To the rural women of the world, who know someday they will leave and find dreams in the big city, only to miss their home more than ever, remember, it's survival of the fittest,

To the mom's working two jobs, plus graveyard shifts, just to put food on the table and keep the lights on, remember, it's survival of the fittest,

They put us in different boxes, daring us to break out, daring us to stand up, daring us to do something about it!

But to the boy who's running from his fears just so that he can chase his dreams, remember Booboo, it's survival of the fittest...