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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The crinkle in her hair The bends of her waste The fullness of her lips I recognize as she sits under the shade of that tree The dip in his step Wave breaks of his hair And the dialect spoken from his lips I recognize as he walks in the shade of that tree It's the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Insanity As I sit basking in the sol I wonder why I recognize them Why I see them so vivid under the trees camisole They must have a kindred spirit in them They live comfortably under the shade Almost as if they refuse to recognize me Like I don't exist and is but a dot on a page Why is it they act as if our connection can't be It's the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Insanity But I see how you invite them underneath the shade Is it because there dermis isnt capable of with standing the sol They only can have minimal light they say Just so they can relate to you and I in that way So you welcome them to rest up under the trees leaves and flowers The way the green of the leaves sit surrounding the plumage is like God has Bob Ross powers And all of them work to give you that beautiful shade But you treat the flowers a different way cutting them just to give them away It's the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Insanity Soon that shade ain't as big as it used to be And the one you welcomed leaves you be Because you took the flowers from that tree And gave to them but like I said the sol they can't handle like me They leave and I still sit here looking at you alone under that tree Now ya'll ain't relaxing It's almost like your hiding Because you thought they would appreciate you but they decieved It's the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Insanity You know what yeah I point my fingers at you with no sympathy And a laugh because i may feel a little salty Because I would have never let you cut the flowers from that tree And you treated me as though you didn't see That's what you get But I still think you're crinkle is fly And the tone of your skin is fly And not to mention the hues of your eyes But so what you denied me And on top of that you don't even know That you can exist in the sol And who am I to tell you now when you never wanted to relate with me It's the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Insanity So take your 23 and dig up your roots You will see you are no different than me Better yet you ain't no different than "we" I don't know why you tried to deny me Like you can't come out from under that shade tree Or I can't come and sit with you underneath it comfortably Like the flower don't make a difference in the shade so quit giving them away Shoot it can withstand the sol the best I say It stay beautiful even after being subjected to the sol's rays. It's the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Calling the pot calling the kettle Hypocritical bigotry
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