Black Babies

She thinks she’s good 'cause she stares at the little black babies
They’re really cuter
Good 'cause she stares at the little black babies
They’re really cuter
Every morning on the train
Got black baby on the brain
As she scans the subway for black baby buggies
In case they make a mess
She can hold them to her breast
And pull out a pair of cute black baby Huggies
«What's his name? How old is he? I think he likes me too»
Good 'cause she stares at the little black babies
They’re really cuter
Good 'cause she stares at the little black babies
They’re really cuter
In the doctor’s waiting room
It’s like the black womb
Peering over Redbook magazine to greet them
The doctor calls her name
She forgets about her pain
And insists that he use her time slot to treat them
«What's her name? Does she walk yet? I used to have that dress»
She never looks at the white ones
White ones are not that cute
She never looks at the white ones
White ones are not that cute
Every morning on the train
Got black baby on the brain
As she scans the subway for black baby buggies
In case they make a mess
She can hold them to her breast
And pull out a pair of cute black baby Huggies
In the doctor’s waiting room
It’s like the black womb
Peering over Redbook magazine to greet them
The doctor calls her name
She forgets about her pain
And insists that he use her time slot to treat them
Good 'cause she stares at the little black babies
They’re really cuter
Good 'cause she stares at the little black babies
They’re really cuter
Good 'cause she stares at the little black babies
They’re really cuter
Good 'cause she stares at the little black babies
They’re really cuter