Now my hair smells like smoke
Something’s burning, I don’t know what it is
I won’t laugh at your dumbass jokes
White boy
I don’t owe you anything
I am learning not to sing for you
Your cage is not Maya Angelou’s
White boy
But you’ve still got a grip on me
Sword to hilt, hand to God, bring me to my knees
If I stand down, if I bleed
If I am what you ask me to be
White boy, what will you make of me?
Passion play, almost biblical
White girl arrives, I turn invisible
I don’t like who I am to you
White boy
Trance state, you’re hypnotic
Twirl my hair, watch my voice jump the octave
I don’t like who I am for you
White boy
But you’ve still got a grip on me
Sword to hilt, hand to God, bring me to my knees
If I stand down, if I bleed
If I am what you ask me to be
White boy, what will you make of me?
But you’ve still got a grip on me
Sword to hilt, hand to God, bring me to my knees
If I stand down, if I bleed
If I am what you ask me to be
White boy, what will you make of me?
What will you make of me?
What will you make of me?
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