Smuggled outta Southeast Asia in a tugboat,
5k miles away to an Arabian coast,
Broke like a horse to do chores by fours,
Retort and get beat until your breath get short.
And she tore like a paper, she was born for the paper,
And her momma promised her they would be reunite
Maybe later in her life. But for now our work sends family,
And that's when she would close her eyes
And think about after she was raped by the man
who put stacks up for and the only one was afforded her
And the other one could afford her.
And the older she become, her fingers went numb
In a cycle ‘til she barely can remember she from.
Then she sold to another, no connection to her mama.
She was 13, they teach her nothin' but her number,
She ain't nothin' but a number.
And many womxn smuggled in the same way.
Pretty brown baby, brown skin lady, bought and sold as a slave.
And the memories are terrors that, child, don't go away.
And the stories of my people make my heart go cold,
And they look at me like, Why are you so angry for?
So I tell my little stories, while I load up my revolver
And I clap, clap, clap, clap, clap in your honor,
I clap, clap, clap, clap, clap in your honor,
I clap, clap, clap, clap, clap in an honor of my own.
As long as I live, I'm gonna tell the stories of my—
Gonna tell the stories of my people as long as I breathe.
Gonna tell the stories of my—Gonna tell the stories of my people.
He was born during a civil war, brought to a foreign shore.
Daddy had to hide in an oil drum import, baby,
To the southernmost part of California, where war was being waged
In the same way foreigners are hurtful in their fires.
It's a gang, a little violent, kids run around with pistols
Like they ain't afraid to die. Nelly spoke the language
And he got branded by the hood, a gang of Southeast Asian
Gangstas out on the city hella short. And the murder-rates tripled.
They were down to a catch a body on me. Fuck it if they catch it.
They just right back where they started,
Moments where they first took their first breath.
And young boy doin' dirty, ghetto, bloody in the chest.
And they shot him in his chest until his body went numb.
Now his daddy wishes he coulda kept him in the oil drum,
But no matter where they run, they still viewed as some gooks,
So they feel the only way to be a man was to shoot.
See, when all they see is in American dreams bein' sold
is a bunch of faces who look nothin' like them,
Cold-turned hearts in a brown chest, underneath a white tee
And their stories seem closer to me.
So to the friends who I won't see ‘til I'm buried in the ground,
I'm gon load this motherfucker. Thank you motherfuckin' crowd.
And the stories of my people make my heart go cold,
And they look at me like, Why are you so angry for?
So I tell my little stories, while I load up my revolver
And I clap, clap, clap, clap, clap in your honor,
I clap, clap, clap, clap, clap in your honor
I clap, clap, clap, clap, clap in an honor of my own.
As long as I live, I'm gonna tell the stories of my—
Gonna tell the stories of my people as long as I breathe.
Gonna tell the stories of my—Gonna tell the stories of my people.
And everybody clap, clap, clap, clap, clap.
Everybody clap, clap, clap, clap, clap.
Everybody a little clap, clap, clap, clap, clap.
A little clap, clap, clap, clap, clap.
Everybody a little clap, clap, clap, clap, clap.

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