I have a list of problems let me give you one 

The color of my skin 

Yes that's the problem 

That's problem number one 

That's where the list of problems begin

It all starts with my skin

 

Maybe this should be reworded 

It's not the color of my skin,

Rather the way the pure, pure prejudice pretentious preoccupied privileged people view it 

The way the police man's bullet plows through it 

For reading a book, 

For purchasing Skittles,

For complying to ever single police man's demand 

 

Do you know where the problem began?

Apparently my skin color is a crime 

And because it is a crime,

The pure, pure privileged believe that I am 

Not WORTHY of any time 

 

So they cut my time short with their bullet 

Do the doctors even try to pull it?

By "it", of course, I mean the bullet 

 

No one seems to survive these attacks 

 

So forgive me when I run away from your cops 

Forgive me as I hide waiting for the brutality to stop 

Forgive me because I want more time 

Forgive me as I explain that my life is not A CRIME