Who You Callin' Ma'am?

Who you calling ma'am?
I ain't no ma'am.
I bin down on hands and knees wiping up soup
Spilled by old shaking hands on the South side of Chicago,
never thought "I white. I too good to be scrubbing
Some old back lady's floor."
Who you callin' "Ma'am"?

Ma'am, who you calling ma'am?
I ain't no ma'am.
I bin down to south 77th & Ashland with
houses all rotted out, abandoned with foreclosure signs,
& all that remains were me and the gangs throwing signs
selling drugs on street corners, and we all freezing our azzes off.
Who you calling ma'am you fake intellectual twittas
who grew up in wealthy suburbs and just discovered racism
and now want to shit all over me cause I'm white?
Who you calling "Ma'am"?
Get down brother. Get down with Doug James & The Pocket playing at Reggies.
Get down brotha, the Blues Fest is in town, and tomorrow
My best friend is singin' at St. Sabinas
where Father Pfleger himself is preachin'.
You might have noticed that he's white, too,
but don't tell him that.
Cause the way I see it, like me, he hasn't noticed
His skin color, just as he hasn't noticed yours.
And Brother Bill Clinton walks with ease on Harlem Streets
Exactly where he belongs with his sax.
So why you call me, Ma'am?
If I can wipe your drool and sing your songs,
I ain't no fool and deserve more respect than that,
a lousy "Ma'am," instead of "Bad Ass" or "Cool Cat."