Grits

I ain't ever had no, no black eyed beans and
My Mama ain't ever fried me, no mustard greens
I ain't ever wanna try, no fish and grits but
My people are you, are you feeling it?

I ain't ever been to no Fillmore West and
I ain't ever got down to Harlem slick in my Sunday best
I would love to go to, to Detroit City
But my people are you, are you feelin' pretty?

I don't know what you've been told
But I can't hide where I came from
So don't you tell me to go home
Let my soul be my soul

Let my soul be my soul
Let your soul be your soul
Let our souls be our souls
Let my soul be my call

I ain't ever been to no block party and
The Red Sox jacking on the Bobcats don't mean smack to me
I would love to do a speakeasy at Mahogany, uh
But my people are you, are you feelin' me?

I don't cream my skin and I don't comb my fro
And I can't rock my sleeveless the same as a
Heavy like Dwele or D'Angelo
And if you try to bump my fist
I might panic and shake your wrist
But I ain't worried about that no
I wanna know if you're feeling this

I don't know what you've been told
But I can't hide where I came from
So don't you tell me to go home
Let my soul be my soul
I don't know what you've been told
But I can't hide where I came from
So don't you tell me to go home
Let my soul be my soul

Let my soul be my soul
Let your soul be your soul
Let our souls be our souls
Let my soul be my call