The best role played on screen aint on screen

And life aint as pretty as it seems a beautiful dream of a ghetto where the grass aint that green 

But the life of a few young me with a pistol that they want to bang 

And they still think a black man hangs.. in the balance no it hangs in what if's and what of's

What if he picked up that book instead of that gun that teach bullets to fly an...

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And now I must recover myself

Left, after centuries of fearful neglect

Washed up to dry on a sunless beach.

And now I must plait my hair

Dull, after nights of washing in grease

The guilty searches for lost affection.

And now I must return home,

Home, where I’ve never been

And sit a while and say sorry, I’m sorry, to me.

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