the hand was weak, but I'm not ready to fold
Not ready to lay down my arms and needs
Not ready to give in to the defeat of my dreams
I tell you, I'm standing with my flag in the air
I'm the first Lunar landing, stopping time on a dare
Taking up the gauntlets of the women before me
Letting my girls know that it's not who adores me
It's the ghosts of the blood that races my veins
It's the shrieks of joy and sorrow and pain
and digging the earth for the Irish potatoes,
and forgiving the causes for so many betrayals
and knowing this zit, that tit, this fat
This freckle, this dimple, this ratatatat
This drumbeat of the ancients that courses it's way
and the patience of patients who won't see another day...
Is the work of a master blaster of the highest degree
The genius on the shoulders of a mammoth dummy.
I'm taking the bet, I'm pulling my brows,
I'm letting you think that you know the low down
I've pushed all my chips and am playing the game
It's not what I win, or even the fame I'm pursuing
It's just doing it, and living it, and being it, and feeling it,
and knowing I may be, different, I may be
Less feminine than you think I should,
Less In constraints that a Southern girl should
Less pretty pretty mealy mouthed
Less inclined to keep quiet when everyone shouts
Less ready to let you manipulate the odds
Less ready to fold when the game's not the cards.
I'm not going to call, not going to fold
I'm going to be what I am. Bold.
