You talk Like a white girl Do you think That you're white, girl A line some drew in the sand Some will call you an Uncle Tom If you support Uncle Sam
Verse 1:
Ebonix or Hooked On Phonics Take your pick But they'll call you a city slicker or a hick Yea, I know I'm black But must every other word be homey or wack There was a time when slaves couldn't read or write But now you're sitting here telling me it's alright To talk like a clown To prove your down Speaking that gibberish to anyone around Some will see it as buffoonery An inarticulate form of cartoonery Your intellect will be hidden Beneath your words And when you speak You will not be heard Fraternized or patronized Until the day you realize Slang is fine But not all the time
Repeat chorus
Verse 2:
Hey, what can I say I never felt comfortable speaking that way You brag that you're from the hood And how living there is supposed to be so good But you never hear anyone say I'm saving up to move to the ghetto one day Most people in the ghetto want something better out of life Rather than to be saddled with crime and strife You keep listening to rappers Telling you what black is When they've made millions and left the ghetto off the biz They're living in the suburbs that's mostly white But they're sitting there telling you "be real" and "dynomite" That's like telling an unmarried woman about your wedding day Or telling somebody on a diet about a buffet You ought to think about that Being black is not about the clothes on your back Its not about every other word being homey or wack Or walking with a swagger Or getting drunk until you stagger You're born black It's not something you acquire It's not about your words or your attire
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Copy to Clipboard: Chorus:
You talk Like a white girl Do you think That you're white, girl A line some drew in the sand Some will call you an Uncle Tom If you support Uncle Sam
Verse 1:
Ebonix or Hooked On Phonics Take your pick But they'll call you a city slicker or a hick Yea, I know I'm black But must every other word be homey or wack There was a time when slaves couldn't read or write But now you're sitting here telling me it's alright To talk like a clown To prove your down Speaking that gibberish to anyone around Some will see it as buffoonery An inarticulate form of cartoonery Your intellect will be hidden Beneath your words And when you speak You will not be heard Fraternized or patronized Until the day you realize Slang is fine But not all the time
Repeat chorus
Verse 2:
Hey, what can I say I never felt comfortable speaking that way You brag that you're from the hood And how living there is supposed to be so good But you never hear anyone say I'm saving up to move to the ghetto one day Most people in the ghetto want something better out of life Rather than to be saddled with crime and strife You keep listening to rappers Telling you what black is When they've made millions and left the ghetto off the biz They're living in the suburbs that's mostly white But they're sitting there telling you "be real" and "dynomite" That's like telling an unmarried woman about your wedding day Or telling somebody on a diet about a buffet You ought to think about that Being black is not about the clothes on your back Its not about every other word being homey or wack Or walking with a swagger Or getting drunk until you stagger You're born black It's not something you acquire It's not about your words or your attire
Repeat chorus twice
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