| When I think about the branches of my family tree | 
| I see the roots underground in the land of the free | 
| But they were choked by the weeds and the vandalous thieves | 
| Branded and keyed | 
| Beaten like a gamblers knees | 
| I can’t weep for the willow | 
| I’m angry as bees demanding a queen | 
| Trapped by humanity’s greed | 
| I give thanks that my ancestors planted a seed | 
| So I know I can’t sleep til I abandon the dream | 
| I don’t count sheep | 
| I’m living with my eyes open | 
| Trying to laugh and act happy like God’s joking | 
| The poems I rhyme remind me to find hope | 
| And I’m keeping my mind focused following divine motion | 
| But I get paid to glance down over the waves that buried the slaves | 
| And gave evolution a stage | 
| In a plane I can’t fathom or imagine the pain | 
| The same teardrops rage every time that it rains | 
| (chorus) | 
| If you don’t know where you come from | 
| How you’re gonna know how to go through what you go through | 
| (How you gonna know, how you gonna know | 
| If you don’t know where you come from?) | 
| Travelling around the world carrying a heavy weight | 
| Here in this suitcase, the struggles that my family faces | 
| Anywhere that I go I’m still riding the same train | 
| On the same stage in the same play | 
| Even if the faces change | 
| Can I cry when I know the things they’ve been through? | 
| Can I smile when I know how much they cried? | 
| Should I lie to myself when I know the past? | 
| I guess I’ll try my best to carry on | 
| Because I know where I come from | 
| (chorus) | 
| The pain of the past can easily eclipse the present | 
| But raindrops relieve tears like kisses from heaven | 
| And they’re flooding the streets deeper than a busted levy | 
| They try to smile on the news, I don’t trust the TV | 
| Cause there’s another branch breaking and you can’t feel it | 
| And there’s another tree falling and you can’t hear it | 
| We’re the lost generation of youth looking for truth | 
| It’s a strange fruit trying to change suit with the same roots, but yo | 
| Can I cry when I know the things they’ve been through? | 
| Can I smile when I know how much they cried? | 
| Should I lie to myself when I know the past? | 
| I guess I’ll try my best to carry on | 
| Because I know where I come from |