Quit asking me that okay.
My continent, my country, and my skin don't rhyme with hell.
Have you heard? (gripping my right ear)
Your petty prejudices don't impress me nor my spirits.
When are you going to grow up? The only thing that separates us is your weird weather and five hours.
Everything else is man-made or made of bread.
Honestly, your sense of humor deserves a slap when you keep asking me that.
Drop those glasses keeping you short-sighted and tear down that misrepresented picture
of the world behind your bedroom door.
I don't appreciate you laughing at my accent either. I'm African and a proud one.
Now let's go get some chinese at Long Garden.