I hear you, beautiful girl talking about things you've never seen. I hear your intrigue. It forces out my animosity, through my squinted eyes, as I wonder deep inside. How many men in your life died? See, I ain't from the Beverly side and you talk like what you say aren't lies. You smile like somewhere deep inside you believe that what you've read, and heard and watched from your soft little blue jay nest up above in the land of white collar green dough happy christmas cards and alpine snow is true. In the land of I love you, I'm here for you, I will support you in life.
A truth about the ghetto beautiful girl, that's what we say. We'll tell you support is abundant, loyalty is strong, just so long as its love in death, in denial, in protection of our wrongs. Is it wrong to fight so hard for life?
Go ahead, shoot your heart felt lies at me, open my heart to something other than animosity. Who's your mother? What's your name? Was slutty fuckin' bitch the way she defined your game? Did you have to fight to keep your panties? Did you have to hide to keep sane?
Dear beautiful girl. Come with me, I'll show you the world you long to see. My brothers, my sister's, my teachers, my fathers. Bring your kevlar, I'll bring my losses. I'll take you down to orange collar, white dough, fuck you christmas deep red snow, I'll bring you to the children who will never know, the father that brought them to the ghetto. I'll show you the beauty of an empty field, of the silence when bullets drop, I'll take you on the roller coaster of oh my god, did he see me and who is that flying fast on my tail?
Let's drive into the dark and listen for bullets, for cries, for the lone trumpet playing in the night. It's beautiful melody filling the street, sending truth to the hearts of the eyes that cannot see. Such rich talent, so amazing to me, the musicians, the dancers, the actors, in the ghetto it's another level. That tattoo'd face spitting disgust, he doesn't have time for that pansy stuff, but behind the ink and the I will kill you eyes, that man will let one tear cry, cry down his face to the heart, that so deeply takes in that trumpet part.
The notes, slide in and out, there's no other community who collectively feels it out. Who collectively knows the notes of the song, who feels the wind in the dancers long long leap into the air so thin, so thin this air that we breathe in.
She flies, like a bullet delivering joy, she rises to the task of leaving this place and staying here to tell us of that great space, in time when no longer is it all mine, but its yours, and its ours and we no longer hafta fight, for our panties, for our rights, for our lives. Dear beautiful girl, how many men must die for their lives?