I'm a bookworm
And I'm better than you
I know Holden Caulfield and Sartre, too
I love Oxford commas and I've read Camus
(Yo, tell 'em Jean-Paul: hell is you)
That, by the way, was a lit allusion
You know, with an a, not like your illusion
The delusion where you think that you talk real good
The delusion that you think that you run yo' hood.
Ah... Silly little white girl wants to write a rap song
Lip gloss and bobby socks, don't she know where she from?
Knows a song by Emimen, thinks that she could hang with him
Turns out rap's an easy game, turns out that she's better than
You, and you, and yes, you, too
Misappropriating culture with the worst of you
Too rich for politics, punk rock--she can't handle it
Pays her own way, ain't know way you think this bitch legit.
Look at them teeth, did her mama put braces on 'em?
Listen how she talk at you, homegirl musta went to college!
Ooh she think she flossy fresh, ooh she think she fresh to death
Get this rich bitch off the stage, somebody make her act her age
(...This is the part where the rap breaks down)
This is the Brass Rail, where we drink until we fuck each other
Pretending that we give a damn, pretending that we have another
option, or choices in life,
That we aren't all small sad people with our throats to the knife
That we aren't all angry, or desperate with fear
Searching for truth in the dregs of our beer
Just one piece of wisdom, one message of hope?
But there isn't, Bukowski, not even one pithy trope.
So fuck you to the posers who say that I don't belong
Because my words are too big and my vision too long
And if you don't like me because I like to wear skirts
With flowers and buttons and polka dot shirts
I'd like to say in this last little rhyme,
Just one more thing in these final lines:
I'm a bitch just like you, I'm angry and raging
I'm young and I'm dumb and think grunge is amazing
So pick something better, don't hate 'cause I'm pretty
Or saddled with options my tax bracket gave me.
Hate because I'm a mirror you can see yourself in
Hate because I'm a reminder that your life's a dead end.