Your shit doesn’t smell like roses
It’s an assault on all of our noses
Yet you do your supermodel poses
While you piss on truth with hoses
Your seed doesn’t grow superheroes
Your sperm count is damn near zero
Skin color doesn’t make you superior
Doesn’t sweeten your ugly interior
No hospital would call you a doctor
No subordinate would be your fodder
A tiny brain in your oversized head
Your generation’s ways are dead
Everybody wants to save the world
With their favorite flags unfurled
Everyone wants to be right all the time
But nobody wants the uphill climb
You reserve the right to be smug
While you’re giving yourself a tug
We reserve the right to call you out
To make you question, make you doubt
To make you feel some discomfort
To make you feel quite humble
You’re not the king of our earth
Not the chosen one since birth
Your prophecy arc was based on lies
Even you pump gas, cook our fries
Let’s see you work for buffalo nickels
My burger doesn’t have enough pickles
But don’t worry, you’re still number one
The platform on which you should run
Maybe your shit really smells like roses
Or you’re high on your own overdoses
