I speak a language beyond your comprehension,
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Fluently articulated in vibrance
And schooled in a refined pool of elegance.
Each syllable is edged in lush emerald bullion
And encrusted in double meanings and symbols.
Vous ne pourriez pas commence comprendre mes mots
Ni la educación para alcanzarlos.
My plight, my struggle to achieve, you name a game.
You declare I was born to wealth and luxury.
Your envy and ignorance are trite and vexing.
I speak a language born of struggle,
A hybrid bastardization forged between older and younger siblings.
Neither older nor younger can understand the other;
I speak the language that ties them—
My words are those of the masses and medias,
Although neither of you choose to listen to them.
I am caught in the middle,
And I am lonely because
I am hated on one side for having too much
And on the other for having too little of the same.
I spek a poor language
Cuz i’m poor
You think jist cuz i gots nofink
I am nofink—an’ am lazy too
But i am som’body
I gots values
An’ unlik you i can be ‘lax an’ have fun
An’ smell them roses ‘for they gone
All my words be ‘bout an’ for fam’ly an’ friends
Not money cuz i ain’t got none