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It don’t mean a thing
When there’s no bling, bling, bling
No gold adornment or diamond ring.
A brother buying Rolex
In clothes starched and well pressed
Never notices the sister
Selling jewelry to eat.
Praise God for the sons of Adam
Made in the image divine
Say “bones of my bones, flesh of my flesh”
My beloved, I’ll know you are mine
I told you I saw Him in long locks
Which made Him even more fine
A looker with an air about Him
I think I’ll give Him some time.
Yes, for water I’m searching,
sneaking noon day at the well.
Yes, dream -married to many
wonderfully wed in my head.
He said He knew my story
men in and out the door.
My history speaks of plenty
desperate quest for grand amour.
Bitter tears and snot I’ve tasted.
You have counted every drop?
Truth will free the captive.
The come and go will stop.
My heart was often
By a son of Adam’s nod.
Falling prostrate on a rug
Pleading favor, this one, God.
Now, I think back on everything
Smile inside myself,
It don’t mean a thing.
Father, Bless the sons of Adam
Some who “know not what they do”
Presenting themselves in a fashion thereof
To other women when they’re through.
We love them for their maleness,
blackness, strength and form.
Forgiving flaws and shortcomings
Help their victims to move on.
I tell you in this song I sing
All the heartbreak
Loss and grief
Disappointed dreams and failed belief,
Wishes for a wedding ring
Joy, honeymoon, bling, bling, bling?
I look back on everything.
Laugh like Sarai on the sly.
Angels, hear me cry,
It don’t mean a thing.
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