Son of a Farmer
I might wash up fine now
I might dress well now
But I'll still be a son of a farmer
Son of a laborer who has to work hard
So forgive me if I don't fit in your class
I came from grasses before riches
And i learnt to be humble, not just the word
For all what we had was enough for a simple life
Cause their were many mouths to feed
With an extra mouth after every 2 years
Cause my siblings kept popping
And we'd call it blessing till we had enough of that
I might look so fine now
But I can get my hands dirty
Don't be fooled by my fine linen
And I can put it all away and put on my rags
Cause I don't want to soil this fine image
So I put it aside as I get to work
For I need to eat so I can't be petty
And at the end of the day money's money
It all looks the same and does the same
So why would I be afraid of my roots
Roots that fed me and made me this diverse
And though I might be this great, I don't mind being son of a farmer
The PO£T
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