 Who look like me. I rebel against the system with my fist up in the misty air. Pull my collar up and walk alone amidst the shifty glare. Since my people's made the choice to name me after Ms. Shakur. I've traversed the side of footsteps trying to navigate her course. Born in a heartache, molded out of sorrow. Mama fed me with the spoon the silver had to borrow. Scuffing to get by, just waiting for the hope to follow. Guess what? It never came, so we just prayed until tomorrow, girl.