They stop and stare at every new pair of shoes
Like we slept with a man for them
When our eyes hurt from work
Our hands are dry and our arms hurt
We have bunions, blisters, bruises and scars
We don't care about
We work hard like my proud ancestors and our bloodline
You're too busy talking sh*t to earn any cash
You're bitter at the hustlers for taking on the work you can't be bothered to do
You have no time to work, but plenty of time to gossip
Plenty of time to try to put people down
We will get more and more of what we desire
Despite you viewing us as cheap
We never see you around when we shop
All you do is stop, deathstare and gossip