This is (my) Reality

What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

Bobby socks and ponytails, fast cars and no email
Good girls didn't, bad boys tried
Mom and dad both had to provide
Little sis was on the top of the pyramid
Little bro had decimals flying in his head
Middle child confused, but well read
1960
This is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

Good times were had by all
In the family we stood strong and tall
Women could be virtuous, if they choose
Bringing home bacon as they proposed
Men trying to win the bread and keep the families fed,
But so much free love . . . free love . . . free love
Turned heads instead
Ain't nothing in life free . . . we soon would see
1970
This is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

Feast or famine, Oh the economy
Stock market crashes, I'm too young to see
From the prospective of a Blackman, redman, yellow man, poor man
You gotta work anyway so git what you can
We scrape to make ends meet, sometimes making those ends
Meet all though the streets
Crack is new, might be worth tryin
Ain't nothin in life free, AIDS provin that free love was lyin
1980
This is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

What is a family, who leads the way
Moms at work, Justin's dad says he's gay
Sis on prozac, bro cross country carrying backpack
Middle child got issues too whack
This war thing is on my back
Are we suppose to be living like this
Economy is changing, still can't get a job
Not enough education; steal, cheat, rob?
Nah, lets be legit and go back to school
Uncle Sam got the tab
This might be cool
1990
This is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality
What is . . . reality . . . reality . . . reality

Thought it might get better, education and all
Now we worried about disaster, mayhem, the fall
Y2K, Lord ain't that a blip
Collagen, botox, but they talk about my lips
Corporate offices hiding everything
Dot Com bombin, Nope, that was just a phase
Stock market up, no stock market down
What the hell are we doing, why the white folks leavin town

Rap is strong, old is wrong
Young girls actin fast just to be in a song
You use to say brotha, partna, friend
Now they use the term dog and you actin like you been
That all your life
Got 17 wife's
3 baby mommas
and all types of strife

To meet the right woman now moved to the PC
Roger and Zapp said it first, but it's still no place to be

We seem to be giving up on what we use to be
Proud, strong and firm . . . now our kids are rollin in bling-bling

35 divorced, livin at home with mom
dad left years ago, he meant no harm
Couldn't keep up with the Jones, the Smiths or the Petes
So he hopped on a bus and is livin up the street
his girl is 22, got 5 baby daddies and a crew.
But pops is just 14 years older than you
You'll see him at the club, mom'll be there too
With her weaved in hair, 5 inch nails and coochie cutters to boot
Where did we go wrong, haven't we all heard of Sojourner Truth
Industrious, determined to make us prove
That we are a strong people, worth the time God took to mold us
But the lust for that dollar bill is what has gotten hold of us

Oh, I ain't mad either, but my ass is broke like you
So until something positive comes around I'll do what I got to do
Flip burgers, wash homes for people who hate me
Type letters file briefs for matters that negate me
Do that 9 to 5 with people who make fun of my hair
These are the same people who lie in the sun for 3 hours to get brown
Inject unknown substances to make their butts and lips round
Go to Jamaica to have their hair braided, then come Monday morning
are laughing at me and faking it

They love me to death from 9 to 5
But the rest of the day don't know I'm alive
This place is sad, what do we live for
Increased riches to be some pimps bitches or is there more
God help us one and all
What else is in store

21^nd Century . . . reality? . . . reality? . . . reality?