If I did that

[Verse 1] I wore the suit just right, kept my voice down low. Even tan in summer was a scandal they’d note. Measured every sentence before I let it go. Couldn’t move too freely in the light they chose. They said, “Show us papers”— like I’m passing through. Born beneath that flag, still I had to prove. Had to smile for cameras. Had to take the attack. They called it just a question, but it was never about facts. ⸻ [Pre-Chorus] If I raised my voice, they called it rage. If I closed that chapter, they called it shame. If I stood too tall, they called it pride. If I held my peace, they said, “But not inside.” ⸻ [Chorus] If I did that, if I said those words, if I treated the law like something I misheard, If I mocked the truth, gave “alternative facts,” tell me what they’d call me if I did that. If I took the oath, then went off track, tell me what they’d call me if I did that. ⸻ [Verse 2] They searched for a crack in my mother’s name. Made my father’s country some kind of blame. Hawaii wasn’t enough. The paper wasn’t proof. They wanted me foreign ’cause they feared my truth. They said, “There must be something.” There always had to be. Not because they found it, but because they needed me Less American than the rage in their chest. Less worthy of the office. Less human than the rest. ⸻ [Pre-Chorus] So I learned to pause where others could roar. I learned how to knock on an open door. I learned the rules were never the same. Some men get power. Some men get blame. ⸻ [Chorus] If I did that, if I said those words, if I bent the law to get more than deserved, If I mocked the truth, then sold it back, tell me what they’d call me if I did that. If I did that, if I drew that line, if I said your birthplace made you guilty of crime, If I took the oath, then went off track, tell me what they’d call me if I did that. ⸻ [Verse 3] Had to hide the thunder underneath my feet. Had to carry rooms that would not carry me. Couldn’t joke too sharp. Couldn’t grieve too long. Couldn’t say too plainly what I knew was wrong. But history listens when the headlines fade. It knows who built bridges and who lit the flames. Two terms, and it was hard, like the R at the end of what they’d call me if I acted like them. ⸻ [Final Pre-Chorus] So I kept my hand steady. Kept my suit pressed clean. Carried all their fear like it belonged to me. But careful does not mean meek. And calm does not mean weak. ⸻ [Final Chorus — Bigger, choir enters] If I did that, if I said those words, if I changed the law, made refugees into jailbirds, If I mocked the truth, then sold it back, you know what they’d call me if I did that. If I did that, if I drew that line, if I said your birthplace made you guilty of crime, If I took the oath, then went off track, you know what they’d call me if I did that. ⸻ [Outro — Spoken, quiet] They told me to be careful. Careful with the office. Careful with the law. Careful with the anger they were waiting to call flaw. If I pointed my finger, and acted “more Black,” you know what they’d call me if I did that.