I'm a Yankee in the South
Far from where I was bo-ahn,
Th' other half of this Country stout,
But not where I'd call home.

I talk too fast and walk too fast
And speak with easy grin;
And every word that I say once
I must repeat again!

If you're black you're Black, down he-ah,
and if you're white, you're White;
I don't fit well, I'm mostly brown,
They just don't feel it's right.

I work each Sunday in the sto-ah,
I do the work of three;
Back home I went to Sunday Mass
And Godless they call me.

Godless Yank, I'm rude, I'm cold,
I started the great War -
(Not our Great War, you see, but one
that came somewhat befo-ah).

I've tried their greens, I've tried their grits,
I've had biscuits n' gravy,
Oh what I'd give for chowdah hot
Or some lobstah tasty!

I like my tea, I like it hot,
Not sickly-sweet and iced,
Brew it black and brew it strong -
No  sweeter will suffice.

Well, I'm a Yankee in the South,
But I wish I'd never gone.
So in a month I'll pack me up
And home I'll be 'fore long!

I'll eat cannolli in North End,
I'll visit Fenway Pahk,
I'll watch the city glow with light
The minute it gets dahk.

I'll roam the rivers, fields and woods,
All dusted up with snow;
The northern bogs, the stony beaches,
That's what I call home!

I never should have come, I sweah,
I'll never go again;
There's plenty here to tide a girl
A hundred years and ten.

The long-sought day has dawned at last,
And now we'll sally forth,
So clear and a bit chilly, it's
A promise of the North.

We drove and drove and drove again,
And then we drove some mo-ah,
We started out at ten to six,
And now it's half-past fo-ah!

And when I'm shovelin' the snow,
Cursing potholes in the road,
I'll think of all the Southern folk
And smile at every load!

Well we're home again, we're home at last,
I won't leave anymo-ah,
I've proved without a doubt there is
Nuthin' to leave it fo-ah!

Well, I was a Yankee in the South,
It's not what I'd call nice,
And now I can concretely say
I wouldn't do it twice!

Hot dogs get chili
Burgers get mustard
Porterhouse gets steak sauce
At least the last I heard.
French fries don’t get vinegar
That’s totally absurd
French fries get ketchup
At least the last I heard.

Toilet paper rolls off the top
Toilet seats need to be up.
Tea is iced and in a glass
Coffee should be in a cup.
Tuna casserole is not for men,
We need meat and potatoes.
We only like marinara sauce
Instead of raw sliced tomatoes.

Salads are lettuce and dressing
Especially of the cheesy kind.
Eggplant is all plant and no egg
And tastes like watermelon rind.
Finger sandwiches are a waste
Especially those with watercress.
Cold borsht served in flat bowls
Is not much more than a mess.

Sushi is nothing else but
Some overdressed hunks of bait.
Pork bellies are pudgy bacon
And deserve a better fate.
Sweet breads are neither;
Sweet nor are they bread.
Steak tartar is just raw meat
And should be cooked instead.

Brunch is a truly silly word
One needs make up the mind.
Either have lunch or breakfast.
I don’t mean to be unkind.
We can be a confusing culture;
Combining things so badly.
Give me the basics, nothing more,
And I will go imbibe quite gladly.

Money melting in a spoon,
let's shoot it into our veins.
Flashing Kardashian lights,
streaming into our brains.
Donald Trump! He's our man!
Mark Muslims is the plan!

All-you-can-eat-
Pile. It. The. ****. High.
When you walk or
When you talk,
let the words squeak out
like they're between
Your thighs.

Thighs. American thighs,
Dreaming next to our Calvins.
Our slacktivism, our regurgitated ideas
spitballing out of our McDonald's mouths
into our peers' ears, distilled by years
And years of "almost-knowledge"
that we quasi-ascertained,
if we knew what that meant --
but we've been left behind!
No child left the **** behind!
We were left behind and there's no
possible way we slacked off, that we're dumb,
that we aren't the movie stars destined for
Lamborghini cars, five-star bars, designer bodies
for designer you and designer me:
the most special of the unique, the
Pearls that have been made in the
darkest parts of the sea, the darkest parts of
origin. Origin. ******. ****.
American ****: virginal ideals sliding around
the muck of a marketable ****, fuckfest,
******* of the American mind, the
congratulations of the American ego,
the proud mother and father tears associated with
buying and lying, "trying" and frying our food,
our ideas, our friends, our neo-impressionistic
children in Jordans, skinny jeans, on tumblr:
the unknowing cousin of Fox News, surprised
by its own wit and wisdom: they're ******* twins.
Carbon copies, unknowing, unwilling, un-un-un.

The romanticism of mental illness.
The close-up of reality-tv emotion.
The manipulation taught to servers
from managers.
The manipulation taught to customers
from society.

All we care about is ****, image, and ***.
Self-preservation: **** Donald Trump
and *******.

I’ll come alive this spring. I’ll bloom if for no one other than myself. Maybe a little for you. I will shake off this dormant weather and I will warm us both under my sunlight skin. I will soak up this season and let my already tan skin deepen with history and celebration. I will wear flowers in my hair and dance to the mariachis. I will remind you that I was born in the cold but I thrive in this heat. I will come alive this spring holding the hands of my beautiful brown sisters and dance them down the city streets. With their braids down their backs and their heritage in their eyes. They will come alive.

It's warm outside yet everyone is cold on the inside. Looking for whatever blanket to cover their consciousness, and warm them themselves from the inside out.
Always doubting themselves, yet their actions project a different movie in the theatre of their peers. A movie of joy and cheer to numb their biggest fears of rejection, not fitting in. Not being able to win.
But when night comes to end and it's just you my friend, trapped with these things you suppress, setting yourself up for nothing but depressed.
Break the chains of your mind, and be true with yourself, are you actually happy or will this be another American tragedy.

Talent, we still have it,
Our generation,
Needs to step up,
Touch and grab it,
We aren't what we make it seem,
We're more than this,
Touch and grab a talent,
You gotta Sound it,
Ready... Set... Do go,
And leave that house,
Go get grounded,
Make it on your own,
Make a living,
Make a world,
For yourself,
You gotta touch and grab your talent,
They have lived,
They have seen,
Now it's our turn,
To touch and grab,
Make it gleam,
Show the pride,
I'm black and I'm proud,
And I'm not gone hide,
That ebonics from the motherland,
Which is cool,
But I can talk like me and talk like you,
From the bottom straight to the top,
Ima touch and grab this talent,
Show you up,
Head start,
That's fine,
But it's my turn to shine,
Blacker the berry the sweeter the juice,
Pac said it,
Mama always had my back,
But now she dead,
Lost but now I'm found in the name,
Speak the tongue of my God,
Spread the word,
Hallelujah,
I made it out,
I'm way to happy to stay on mute,
I'm black and I'm proud,
And I made it out,
I gotta shout,
The world,
I see its end,
Finished,
Soon come,
Straight in this narrow path,
Touch and grab a talent,
Make it out,
Don't stay where you are,
Make it out,
I'm here to tell that it's more to this,
This life is a game,
I have the manual to this,
It's all in the B-I-B-L-E,
Soon banded,
They know the truth and branded it,
Sacrilegious,
And they have their God,
But I have mine too,
To the Man upstairs,
I'm sorry for all I've done,
Please save us too,
Take me home with you,
But to my people,
Stay black and stay proud,
Touch your talent,
Grab your talent,
Let's take over the world !
I'm out ...

It’s polarized like a Kodak Picture
you're clicking in to all my secret desires
I slipped them to you like a patsy to a fortune teller
Am I dreaming?
Cause all this seems to be made for me
Though I hate rowing
you promised me a motorboat
a yacht with infinite wind in her sails
Soon as I toil here for a few years
you’ll let me into that life
Walking down Easy Street
with a gleam in my eye
knowing I could buy watches and bags

Yesterday is much clearer
As the future is drawing nearer.
The histories we have rehearsed
Over time have become reversed.
It should make us very sad;
What was good has become bad.

The bad guys were the Indians
And the good guys Caucasians
And they were always right
Because they were always white.
The Red Man was a villain
Because he was an Indian;
And that was never corrected.
The name an invader selected.

These were people born here
Defending land they held dear
Because they had hunted
And were never really wanted.
The invaders called them savage
Their women okay to ravage
Because they didn’t have Jehovah
To issue them a binding mitzvah.

There were so few invaders
So at first they were persuaders.
But after putting out some feelers
They chose to become stealers.
They declared the natives sinners
And thus became the winners.
The natives hadn’t learned to read
So the invaders ignored all their needs.

The invaders were prepared to fight
To deny the natives their rights
So, the invaders created paper laws
Thus natives couldn’t tell what they saw.
Suddenly the noble savage was a crook.
The invaders gloated over what they took;
Stole native’s possessions from their hands
And declared it all as the invader’s land.

This is the Danes and Angles back when
And the story happened all over again.
But once the battle victory is scored
The native’s birthright is not restored.
The invaders cover up the tragedies
With inaccurate tales and call them history.