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