They call me a ghetto child
Because I come from the streets
The streets of dirt-filled roads
And homemade tortillas.
The sound of my speech
Has a funny ring
What´s with me adding a Spanish word
Every now and then when I speak.
We´re in thee America, they say,
Speak thy English!
As if I haven´t noticed,
With the big buildings and fancy cars.
The way I dress isn´t cool or hip,
It´s too raggedy they say.
But how else am I supposed to dress?
`Old School´they call it,
Too cheap and not enough bling bling.
Did they forget I´m a ghetto child?
I like the simple things.
Catch on, they say,
There´s nothing to catch on to,
I´d rather be the ghetto child
That I am.
Living my simple life,
Trying to make ends meet.
That´s living poor, they yell,
But it´s the only way I know how to live
Ghetto child!! Ghetto child!!
There goes the ghetto child