Up - Beoga

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room

Just like moons and like suns

With the certainty of tides

Just like hopes springing high

Still I’ll rise

You may shoot me with your words

You may cut me with your eyes

You may kill me with your hatefulness

But still, like air, I’ll rise