From our skin to our inner most features,
We have the deepest roots.
From the food we eat to the souls who cook it.
From the songs we sing,
To the music we dance to.
Is our heritage the soles of our feet on which we trot the mother land?
Or the clothes we wear, made by our mother’s hands.
Our heritage is the hair we can hardly comb or straighten with hair pressers,
To the hair shaped or molded by hair dressers.
We can’t help but have big lips and thighs,
But that’s not how we’re judged in the world’s eyes.
We were seen emperors and rulers,
And scholars and heroes.
Intelligent and strong is our heritage.
From the sassy mouths and funky attitudes,
To the courageous men and women who spread their gratitude.