Lyrics Burfi - Samsa, Thiago

Burfi

L-I-double-R bayside trainline
Grew up on butter chicken, and double-digit waistline
Stubble on my face, like, when I’m on a plane ride
People don’t wanna sit on the same side, what?
Look at me, I’m harmless, I’m wearing a tank top
What could I be armed with?
You can have the aisle seat
You can have the armrests, you can have my barf bag
This is not a bomb test (This is not a bomb test)
Soccer moms nervous, when I’m sitting on a flight
So brown, that I’m ticketed at lights
Hot sauce, white sauce, yes, chicken over rice
So brown, copped the Ali Zafar album, yes, I listened to it twice
Hookah high school parties, always visited the heights
Mom never let me kick it over night
On a curfew, mom wanted me to go to Berkley
Dad wanted me to get into Islamic clergy
Chachoo said he’d work me in his diner, making burfi
«Bilkul jasi ghar ke», I was playing Kirby-
-Nightmare Dreamland, I was watching He-man
East side Queens, never talk to the police man, please, man
Barry said that we can
Tried to get it all done within a weekend
See the same dumb shh- up on C-SPAN
Where the change at?
Strip the world down, like a teen cam
And it’s gone in a flash
Everything solved with a bomb and its blast
Long as the promise of cash is involved
No impossible task, like, nah, we had no other options with that
Middle East with some peace, yeah, one day
Body-cams on police, yeah, one day
White punk shooting schools, they don’t update the rules
'Cause Americans in love with they gunplay
Pow!
Someday, Sunday
Go to church, amen, God is the one way
Anybody not on board, awe buddy, we deport
We wanna be great again, do what Trump say
That man is god-awful, compares to none
Melting pot is what makes us American
Still watch during convos, parents judged
From their accents, hmm, think where we’re from
Latinos all hoodlums that carry guns, right?
Criminals, rapists, selling drugs, right?
Stealing our jobs, it ain’t fair to us, right?
Privileged cops who prepared to cuff, right?
Hands up, but the cop scared, he bust, like
«Pow!», and it’s done, was nowhere to run, right?
One last breath from his pair of lungs
From that night he was tryna' get his errands done, nice
All hail the monarch, the pharaoh king
About to diddle in the East, like the Arab Spring
It’s embarrassing, let’s ban refugees, huh?
I just want a slice of that New York Pizza
I’ve even got a shirt saying, «I love Isa»
I drew a little picture of you on my Visa
O Great Conquista-dor
More the type to visit moms on the eastern shore
Than a villain on a felony police report
Ain’t you heard it’s impolite?
What you eavesdrop for?
Phone tap, PAT act, what a turn of events
MAGA turning time back, made em' yearn for the past-tense
Gave Lady Liberty, an urn full of ashes
A term full of fascists, a cabinet of flammable gases
Burning our flag with alternative facts
Now we turning our backs to the masses
Fake news, false reporters, build a wall on the border
With caulk and mortar, not law and order
Turn a circus to a theme park
Even if you got a ticket and a green card
America, the darling, America, the sweetheart, — the police state
From the Bronx to the Verrazano freeway
Middle East, Russia, terrorism three-way
Mom doesn’t know if she should feel safe
Never used to lock doors, now we check the key fob
Now she goes to J Crew, never wears the hijab
Now we make our own chai, never hit the sweet shop
Abbu think we got bugs hidden in the sheetrock
Ammi think I ought to get myself a real job
Too afraid to protest, all we do is read blogs
Never do we bleed out, all we do is treat clots
All it is is foreplay, never hit the g-spot