And you’re grossed out but still delirious with yellow fever Our women so quiet so polite respectful dignified Making congee with thousand year old eggs when we’re sick Mom’s special recipe not like that chicken noodle soup you have Call me disgusting one more time as you eat dry chicken breast Tastes like death My ancestors sit on a pile of burned paper money Because we never stop taking care of older generations they gave us life And you’re complaining that your mom won’t give you an iPhone my mom is beating me with the same broomstick she uses to sweep the graves Hoping maybe my ancestors will smack some sense into me You call it child abuse, we call it discipline You criticize our factories striving for perfection Same beautiful dark hair yellow skin eyes seeing That sweatshops and manufactured idols are ours and We make your way of life tables chairs and the pedestal you’re on As we sweat blood dripping in our rice fields with the sun beating on our backs We feed our families while you feed your ego Thank you for ignoring us liberals speaking of equality You want diversity but you don’t want us, your minority” “Model Wow thanks didn’t know too much of a good was bad We are silent because politics are dirty it’s part of our culture to find clean jobs We are quiet because we don’t want to make trouble just a living We are voiceless because we made the box and you took our sound We are here. Angie Liao Hunter College High School THE EAST SIDE I know where I should be But here is where I am On the corner of Canal street Screeches from the slides of Plastic wheels against the sidewalk Provoke an aggressive, foreign dialogue
And you’re grossed out but still delirious with yellow fever Our women so quiet so polite respectful dignified Making congee with thousand year old eggs when we’re sick Mom’s special recipe not like that chicken noodle soup you have Call me disgusting one more time as you eat dry chicken breast Tastes like death My ancestors sit on a pile of burned paper money Because we never stop taking care of older generations they gave us life And you’re complaining that your mom won’t give you an iPhone my mom is beating me with the same broomstick she uses to sweep the graves Hoping maybe my ancestors will smack some sense into me You call it child abuse, we call it discipline You criticize our factories striving for perfection Same beautiful dark hair yellow skin eyes seeing That sweatshops and manufactured idols are ours and We make your way of life tables chairs and the pedestal you’re on As we sweat blood dripping in our rice fields with the sun beating on our backs We feed our families while you feed your ego Thank you for ignoring us liberals speaking of equality You want diversity but you don’t want us, your “Model minority” Wow thanks didn’t know too much of a good was bad We are silent because politics are dirty it’s part of our culture to find clean jobs We are quiet because we don’t want to make trouble just a living We are voiceless because we made the box and you took our sound We are here. Angie Liao Hunter College High School THE EAST SIDE I know where I should be But here is where I am On the corner of Canal street Screeches from the slides of Plastic wheels against the sidewalk Provoke an aggressive, foreign dialogue