Other People

[Verse 1: John Reuben]
We all wanna know where we come from
Who to show a little extra love
Spit in a cup
Try and get in touch
I'm not sure my ancestors would claim me as such

I grew up in a trailer park
With good ol' boys in pickup trucks
Saw Confederate flags and tattoos of swastikas
Sorta like them fellas yellin' "Jews won't replace us"
And I'm the only kid at school saying "Happy Hanukkah"

Who are my people
Half-Jew to be exact
And that depends on who you ask
Cause it doesn't count if it comes from your dad
Plus Jesus Christ, now that's a whole different path of people
Apparently white is not a tribe and hate is colorblind
From the same seeds of supremacy
Came the Holocaust, slavery, and Manifest Destiny

[Hook: John Reuben]
Who are my people
Who counts, who doesn't, who's stuck in the middle
If you're the right type of people
Who's the other type of people
The ones that make you feel like
You'll lose your way of life type of people

Who counts, who doesn't, who's stuck in the middle
If you're the right type of people
Who's the other type of people
The ones that make you feel like

[Verse 2: John Reuben]
They burned a cross on my grandmother's farm
Eastern European Catholic, not the Jewish one
Poor white immigrants looking to better their conditions
Got their piece of land without a warm welcome
Now their grandchildren wrestle with entitlement with privileges
Identity politics and who wrote the laws of skin
Who chose America and eventually blended in
I guess you are what box you're told to check on the Census

[Alon]
Check what box?
I find that question rather complex
Not African-American
So "Other" box gets checked
Yes, roots of family tree be slavery
Like fellow Blacks
But my lineage was oppressed
Not by English, but the French

Yet technically speaking
I guess I'm still descended
Of African origin
What part? I'm still figuring
I ponder this with
Grain of salt
And all that it comes flaved with
Who do I belong with
And what tribe do I ID

[Hook: John Reuben]
Who are my people
Who counts, who doesn't, who's stuck in the middle
If you're the right type of people
Who's the other type of people
The ones that make you feel like
You'll lose your way of life type of people
Who counts, who doesn't, who's stuck in the middle
If you're the right type of people
Who's the other type of people
The ones that make you feel like

[Verse 3: Alon]
Born in Mass
But made from Haitian refugee
Trauma path
Led to a life in children's services
And every day our home was different
Every place we went Caucasian
Everyone spoke English language
Changing voice communication

Nomadic black youth
In the hood with others too
Survival Kool-Aid drank its truth
Gotta get mine before you do
Not the same but
I feel oppression like ancestors knew
Being Black means facing systems
Held down by truth

Drawn to a concept
Of us against the world
Some fellow Black call me a spear-chucker
Skin cells hurl, clown me
Cause don't have the right kicks, jeans, belt buckle
Shirt not fashionable
Let's not talk lack of skills in basketball

Skip to
Future, married
Biracial union true
Wifey be Italiano
And kids all mixed up like stew
(He likes them white girls)
Don't got time to address that statement
Both get looks from both sides
Like defendants-slash-plaintiffs

Raising young to contribute
Influence society
'Cause there's something bigger than tribes to
Be-L-O-N-G
So I swerve them ignorant statements
From white side of family
And I swerve the same mess from the
Black side of family
And I swerve them political racist charged oratories
Who do I belong to?
Those for human flourishing