lorde know(s) that cis-hets don’t like me
baldwin know(s), how white homos exoticize me
i hope that heaven got a gay ghetto
where my qpoc family don’t feel shame
don’t feel too brown or black
or femme and phat
don’t get shames for being free
don’t get lonely, don’t get sa(i)d
three drinks always becomes six becomes nine
i wonder if heaven got a gay ghetto
will momma see the boys ive let climb me
the weight i felt beneath them
will she still come visit me
poor momma, aint never meant to hurt you
i tried my best, i read the root
of hurt is shame, abandonment, and betrayal
will anyone come visit us, stop by our potluck
do we got money to bring a dish?
do the bus run that late
i’ll take a shot for every time a straight dude
makes you feel sub-ham, makes you scared to hold my hand
on the walk
you know, he’s working to get into that regulr hevan.
you know he’s gunna get to meet white jesus.
shiet, he probably already got a picture with white jesus
signed and framed on his wall
you know that he got those connections
you know where he’ll be
how he’ll be what hell
what hell what he’ll
be doing when he’s a knocking on our doo r
mother fucker, mother mary virgin mother fucker
you know, he’ll be aside the police
if he come to our gay ghetto in heaven
you know he’ll be breaking up the potluck
lorde know(s) that cis-hets don’t like me