Don't tell her what to do my
love, she's is the only being alive. Don't tell her what to do my love, just
because she thrives. Don't tell her what to do my love, she isn't stamped or
owned, don't tell her what to do my love - didn't see you complaining while she
moaned. Don't tell her what to do my love, this isn't about wrong or right.
Don't tell her what to do my love, are you afraid that she will put up a fight?
Or are you scared, that she just might? Her dreams are bigger than your fears, she wasn't born to be owned, stoned or boned. She is rebellious, she is loud, she is in your face - she is not bounded by colour, height, boobs or race. She's strong. She's feisty, she is full of flaws, she didn't asked you to build them, so don't ask her to live by your laws. She's piece of art, she's hardworking, and she's a mirror to your self-doubt, is that why, baby, she's always so talked about. You whisper names, you make up stories, you’re scared she'll prove you wrong, so you have stopped your rumors at nothing, not even her thong. Don't tell her it's got her own safety, don't tell her not to want more - while the man that touched her and caressed her, are left outside to roar. Don't tell her this is all her fault, you quietly shifted the blame. The smoke maybe coming out of her mouth, but he is the one that lit the flame. Her legs were open, or she's drunk at bar, oh for fuck sakes she wasn't any safer when she sat behind her dad that night in the car. Don't tell her she's out of control, when they are selling her body at the price of her soul. Don't tell her she's like your sister & daughter, when you know they are selling it over the counter, like they are selling water. Don't tell her what to do my love, she's more than just a cultural whore. Yet the only reference you could make to prove your manly hood is to when you claimed to have made her sore. Don't tell her what to do my love, one day she will shine & make you proud, that is, even you don't wrap her body in a shroud. Don't tell her not to move, emote or feel my love. She isn't indeed a tree. Teach her to say fuck you to the world, because well behaved women rarely make history.
Or are you scared, that she just might? Her dreams are bigger than your fears, she wasn't born to be owned, stoned or boned. She is rebellious, she is loud, she is in your face - she is not bounded by colour, height, boobs or race. She's strong. She's feisty, she is full of flaws, she didn't asked you to build them, so don't ask her to live by your laws. She's piece of art, she's hardworking, and she's a mirror to your self-doubt, is that why, baby, she's always so talked about. You whisper names, you make up stories, you’re scared she'll prove you wrong, so you have stopped your rumors at nothing, not even her thong. Don't tell her it's got her own safety, don't tell her not to want more - while the man that touched her and caressed her, are left outside to roar. Don't tell her this is all her fault, you quietly shifted the blame. The smoke maybe coming out of her mouth, but he is the one that lit the flame. Her legs were open, or she's drunk at bar, oh for fuck sakes she wasn't any safer when she sat behind her dad that night in the car. Don't tell her she's out of control, when they are selling her body at the price of her soul. Don't tell her she's like your sister & daughter, when you know they are selling it over the counter, like they are selling water. Don't tell her what to do my love, she's more than just a cultural whore. Yet the only reference you could make to prove your manly hood is to when you claimed to have made her sore. Don't tell her what to do my love, one day she will shine & make you proud, that is, even you don't wrap her body in a shroud. Don't tell her not to move, emote or feel my love. She isn't indeed a tree. Teach her to say fuck you to the world, because well behaved women rarely make history.
Also Read: That Girl: Episode #1
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