You may attempt to pen my story in history with your bitter and twisted falsehoods. You might even trample me into the very dirt. But, like dust that refuses to be suppressed, I will rise.
Does my boldness and sassiness perturb you? Why are you overcome with such gloom? It's because I walk with the confidence as if I have oil wells pumping right in my living room.
Just as the moons and suns follow their certain paths, and the tides rise and fall with predictability, just as hopes spring eternal and high, still I will rise.
Did you envision seeing me broken, with a bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders slumping down like teardrops, weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness irritate you? Don't take it too hard. Because I laugh with the joy as if I have gold mines being dug right in my own backyard.
You may try to wound me with your words, cut me with your eyes, and even kill me with your hatefulness. But, like the air that cannot be contained, I will rise.
Does my sexiness unnerve you? Does it come as a shock that I dance with the grace as if I have diamonds at the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's disgrace, I rise. Up from a past that is deeply rooted in pain, I rise. I am like a vast black ocean, leaping and wide, welling and swelling with the power of the tide. Leaving behind the nights of terror and fear, I rise. Into a daybreak that is miraculously clear, I rise. Bringing the precious gifts that my ancestors bestowed, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise. I rise. I rise.