White Girl Music

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Tim Saunders

Tim Saunders is a Cornish language poet who also writes poetry and journalism in the Welsh, Irish, Breton and Cornish languages. He is resident in Cardiff but is of Cornish descent. He is a bard of the Gorseth Kernow, a literary historian and editor of 'The Wheel' – an anthology of modern poetry in Cornish 1850–1980. High Tide is a collection of his own poems in Cornish from the years 1974 to 1999. Tim's daughters, Gwenno and Ani Saunders, were formerly singers with the British indie pop girl group The Pipettes, with Gwenno also playing the keyboards, and are now solo artists. more »

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Look Timmy, you don't make that white girl music
The type that make everybody wanna move it
That shit that come on on the radio when you crusing
And DJs use it to make the crowd go stupid

Nah, nah, nah, nigga, you don't make that white girl music
The type that make everybody wanna move it
Whip it up, and run a play, been in trap 100 days
Cause these bills ain't finna pay they self, stupid

Now Tim, you're a talented kid, your lyrics are hot for real
But marketability is what matters and not ya skill
You too lyrical miracle spiritual bro, you gotta chill
I ain't saying rap about popping pills for that pop appeal
I'm saying, on the road to fame, don't take the long way
Every now and then we get a catchy song like All Day
Why can't you do that always?
No you'd rather write 400 punchlines nobody gets, then wonder why you can't increase yo song plays
But I guess everybody got they own lane
You can make ya own, music, I would never tell you change
But you should probably pick a sound, a new flow, a new name
Man, basically, nothing about you should stay the same, cause

You don't make that white girl music
The type that make everybody wanna move it
That Top 40 pop they play up on the cruise ship
Play it at Coachella, make the crowd go stupid

Nah, nigga, you don't make that white girl music
The type that make everybody wanna move it
Nigga think that's it's a game, then he turn into a stain
Better use ya fucking brain, don't be stupid

Look, I appreciate you out here tryna keep the peace
Your world might be perfect, but other niggas need eat
So if I gotta get it from a nigga peaking out his screen door
Then he get his screen shot, bitch we keep receipts
You one of them lyrical wordy ass niggas
And them Childish Gambino, Lupe, nerdy ass niggas
Well we stressing in this bitch
And nobody wanna hear a spoiled college kid rapping bout some wrestling and shit
Look, I understand, you staying in ya own lane
And you can make ya own music, I would never tell you change
But I don't hear no type of struggle, I don't hear no type of pain
And as long as that's the same, real niggas can't relate, cause

You don't make that white girl music
The type that make everybody wanna move it
Whip it up, and run a play, been in trap 100 days
Cause these bills ain't finna pay they self, stupid

You don't make that white girl music
The type that make everybody wanna move it
That Top 40 pop they play up on the cruise ship
Play it at Coachella, make the crowd go stupid

Okay I'm not Mr. Smash hit single, I ain't tripping though
I got crazy bars, rhyme schemes, and 50 different flows
I ain't no American Idol but I can hit some notes
And ain't y'all niggas ready for something a little different though?
And I respect the hustle, but I ain't never done it
Cause my parents made sure I had everything I ever wanted
I ain't never had a gun, and I ain't never sold no nothing
That's why I don't rap about it, imma keep it a hundred
The only hustle and grind I know is school this music
I ain't never been through nothing but a little teenage heartbreak
And a lot of self-doubting, self-hating
But I turned that shit around, now it's self-congratulations
And some that didn't rhyme, cause they wasn't bars, just truth
And imma make whatever kinda music that I want to
I won't be conforming when I write this stuff
If you love it, I love you, and if you hate it, I love you twice as much

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