| You may write me down in history
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| With your bitter, twisted lies,
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| You may trod me in the very dirt
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| But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
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| Does my sassiness upset you?
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| Why are you beset with gloom?
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| 'Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
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| Pumping in my living room.
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| Just like moons and like suns,
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| With the certainty of tides,
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| Just like hopes springing high,
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| Still I’ll rise.
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| Did you want to see me broken?
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| Bowed head and lowered eyes?
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| Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
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| Weakened by my soulful cries.
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| Does my haughtiness offend you?
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| Don’t you take it awful hard
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| 'Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
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| Diggin' in my own back yard.
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| You may shoot me with your words,
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| You may cut me with your eyes,
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| You may kill me with your hatefulness,
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| But still, like air, I’ll rise.
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| Does my sexiness upset you?
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| Does it come as a surprise
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| That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
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| At the meeting of my thighs?
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| Out of the huts of history’s shame
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| I rise
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| Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
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| I rise
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| I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, |
| Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
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| Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
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| I rise
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| Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
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| I rise
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| Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
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| I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
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| I rise
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| I rise
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| I rise. |