Target

Everyday is a boxing ring
sunrise, the bell go ding
step out the yard we dodging swing
from a young age we bob and weave
White lines around arena
No peace of mind, no breather
If I make it out by the skin of our teeth
the grace of god, skin on my skin
Trying not to
Trying not to
Trying not to end up on your target
Every day is a boxing thing
sweating and you ain’t gone gym
one hand tied behind your back
You might take a blow to your back
I won’t take it all on the chin
I won’t collect it, that’s not my thing
I can’t shrink myself any smaller
so pygmy pagan feel taller
Trying not to
Trying not to
Trying not to end up on your target