Hello oppressed,
With that scarf around your head,
That you surely must dread,
Aren’t you hot?
Can’t you see it’s sunny,
Aren’t your ears cold,
They try to be funny,
But some seriously suggest,
That I am oppressed,
Because I can’t flaunt what I got,
And they look at the way that I’m dressed,
All covered up,
From head to toe,
How am I to attract the men,
Without a little show?
So I tell them,
I’m oppressed,
Because men can’t see past the fabric?
They are stuck with a conversation
And a brain to pick,
I flaunt,
Yes I do,
My personality is what I flaunt,
I swear, it’s true,
I aint no object
In men’s desire,
Nor am I a curve size,
Because I have attire,
And they tell me,
Well, you were forced,
Obviously,
Your dad had a belt,
And so you agreed,
No, it was my choice,
I did agree,
In fact,
After I did cover up,
Men stopped checking out my behind,
And started looking at who I am on the inside,
And after I did,
Respect came my way,
Heads didn’t turn lolling as I passed men’s way,
But I guess some like that attention,
And women,
This isn’t a stab at you,
I’m just expressing my point of view,
After dealing with stereotypes of what people tell me I am,
I can even see it in their eyes,
Like my attire should be banned,
And especially older women,
Look at me with pity,
Poor child, I wish I could help her and show her the way,
Cause according to Fox tv, they’ve gone astray,
Poor abused women, dressed in black,
Can’t those mean men cut them a little slack?
But to their surprise,
I choose to wear it,
To me its freedom,
Freedom from fashion implications,
Telling you how to talk, dress and look,
Advertising the new trend,
To get you on the hook,
Of being what the fashion industry can make money off of,
I wear what I want and dress to impress,
Myself and God,
And nobody else,
I wear pants and I wear skirts,
I wear socks and long shirts,
And if my name callers aren’t happen with that,
Then come and liberate me,
Which in now a day’s terms,
Means kill me.
With that scarf around your head,
That you surely must dread,
Aren’t you hot?
Can’t you see it’s sunny,
Aren’t your ears cold,
They try to be funny,
But some seriously suggest,
That I am oppressed,
Because I can’t flaunt what I got,
And they look at the way that I’m dressed,
All covered up,
From head to toe,
How am I to attract the men,
Without a little show?
So I tell them,
I’m oppressed,
Because men can’t see past the fabric?
They are stuck with a conversation
And a brain to pick,
I flaunt,
Yes I do,
My personality is what I flaunt,
I swear, it’s true,
I aint no object
In men’s desire,
Nor am I a curve size,
Because I have attire,
And they tell me,
Well, you were forced,
Obviously,
Your dad had a belt,
And so you agreed,
No, it was my choice,
I did agree,
In fact,
After I did cover up,
Men stopped checking out my behind,
And started looking at who I am on the inside,
And after I did,
Respect came my way,
Heads didn’t turn lolling as I passed men’s way,
But I guess some like that attention,
And women,
This isn’t a stab at you,
I’m just expressing my point of view,
After dealing with stereotypes of what people tell me I am,
I can even see it in their eyes,
Like my attire should be banned,
And especially older women,
Look at me with pity,
Poor child, I wish I could help her and show her the way,
Cause according to Fox tv, they’ve gone astray,
Poor abused women, dressed in black,
Can’t those mean men cut them a little slack?
But to their surprise,
I choose to wear it,
To me its freedom,
Freedom from fashion implications,
Telling you how to talk, dress and look,
Advertising the new trend,
To get you on the hook,
Of being what the fashion industry can make money off of,
I wear what I want and dress to impress,
Myself and God,
And nobody else,
I wear pants and I wear skirts,
I wear socks and long shirts,
And if my name callers aren’t happen with that,
Then come and liberate me,
Which in now a day’s terms,
Means kill me.
