Other People

Lyrics

[Verse 1: John Reuben] We all wanna know where we come from Who to show a little extra love Spit in a cup Try and get in touch I'm not sure my ancestors would claim me as such I grew up in a trailer park With good ol' boys in pickup trucks Saw Confederate flags and tattoos of swastikas Sorta like them fellas yellin' "Jews won't replace us" And I'm the only kid at school saying "Happy Hanukkah" Who are my people Half-Jew to be exact And that depends on who you ask Cause it doesn't count if it comes from your dad Plus Jesus Christ, now that's a whole different path of people Apparently white is not a tribe and hate is colorblind From the same seeds of supremacy Came the Holocaust, slavery, and Manifest Destiny [Hook: John Reuben] Who are my people Who counts, who doesn't, who's stuck in the middle If you're the right type of people Who's the other type of people The ones that make you feel like You'll lose your way of life type of people Who counts, who doesn't, who's stuck in the middle If you're the right type of people Who's the other type of people The ones that make you feel like [Verse 2: John Reuben] They burned a cross on my grandmother's farm Eastern European Catholic, not the Jewish one Poor white immigrants looking to better their conditions Got their piece of land without a warm welcome Now their grandchildren wrestle with entitlement with privileges Identity politics and who wrote the laws of skin Who chose America and eventually blended in I guess you are what box you're told to check on the Census [Alon] Check what box? I find that question rather complex Not African-American So "Other" box gets checked Yes, roots of family tree be slavery Like fellow Blacks But my lineage was oppressed Not by English, but the French Yet technically speaking I guess I'm still descended Of African origin What part? I'm still figuring I ponder this with Grain of salt And all that it comes flaved with Who do I belong with And what tribe do I ID [Hook: John Reuben] Who are my people Who counts, who doesn't, who's stuck in the middle If you're the right type of people Who's the other type of people The ones that make you feel like You'll lose your way of life type of people Who counts, who doesn't, who's stuck in the middle If you're the right type of people Who's the other type of people The ones that make you feel like [Verse 3: Alon] Born in Mass But made from Haitian refugee Trauma path Led to a life in children's services And every day our home was different Every place we went Caucasian Everyone spoke English language Changing voice communication Nomadic black youth In the hood with others too Survival Kool-Aid drank its truth Gotta get mine before you do Not the same but I feel oppression like ancestors knew Being Black means facing systems Held down by truth Drawn to a concept Of us against the world Some fellow Black call me a spear-chucker Skin cells hurl, clown me Cause don't have the right kicks, jeans, belt buckle Shirt not fashionable Let's not talk lack of skills in basketball Skip to Future, married Biracial union true Wifey be Italiano And kids all mixed up like stew (He likes them white girls) Don't got time to address that statement Both get looks from both sides Like defendants-slash-plaintiffs Raising young to contribute Influence society 'Cause there's something bigger than tribes to Be-L-O-N-G So I swerve them ignorant statements From white side of family And I swerve the same mess from the Black side of family And I swerve them political racist charged oratories Who do I belong to? Those for human flourishing