Africa Seems To Be Home
Africa seems to be a home
Built on stereotypes and heavy accents.
America loves to carry the culture of africa
But use their tongues as bows
And words as arrows to my beautiful culture
Coming here I thought I was going to live the american dream
But dreams became nightmares
The kids laughed at the home made scent of mamma's cooking
Still sented on my clothes
They buried my words deep within my chest
Because when i spoke it was never clear enough for them
They needed to open their eyes before they could even learn to hear
Ignorance is bliss?
more like ignorance is hurtful
Because their ignorance of my culture left nothing but a desire to be americanized
I mean...look! they had it all
I grew up getting beat in school
My father left me at 2 I only loathed to hear his voice say daughter I am back -
I searched my whole life for you
My uncle became my father but died 2 years after.
I moved and found myself living in the country everyone wanted to escape to
I migrated into hell without realising I left back heaven
But years gone by
I learned how to build a throne out of sticks and stones
I no longer let words break me down
I learned how to let confidence be a crown
And although the beginning of my story was written with tears
While I write the ending it will be written with meaning and strength.
Built on stereotypes and heavy accents.
America loves to carry the culture of africa
But use their tongues as bows
And words as arrows to my beautiful culture
Coming here I thought I was going to live the american dream
But dreams became nightmares
The kids laughed at the home made scent of mamma's cooking
Still sented on my clothes
They buried my words deep within my chest
Because when i spoke it was never clear enough for them
They needed to open their eyes before they could even learn to hear
Ignorance is bliss?
more like ignorance is hurtful
Because their ignorance of my culture left nothing but a desire to be americanized
I mean...look! they had it all
I grew up getting beat in school
My father left me at 2 I only loathed to hear his voice say daughter I am back -
I searched my whole life for you
My uncle became my father but died 2 years after.
I moved and found myself living in the country everyone wanted to escape to
I migrated into hell without realising I left back heaven
But years gone by
I learned how to build a throne out of sticks and stones
I no longer let words break me down
I learned how to let confidence be a crown
And although the beginning of my story was written with tears
While I write the ending it will be written with meaning and strength.