Nina Mariah Donovan schreef deze geweldige tekst toen Trump voor de eerste keer president werd. Nu hij voor de tweede keer zijn destructie op de wereld mag loslaten, en als een door techbro’s gestuurde stormram alle denkbare waarden probeert plat te walsen, vrouwen terug wil in een door ultra conservatief christelijk getimmerd hok, migranten wil uitzetten, mensen lukraak arresteert om een verkeerde mening en alle medemenselijkheid wegbezuinigt, is deze excellente ‘rant’ nog steeds actueel. Be a nasty woman, ook als je een man bent. Hell yeah!
I’m a Nasty Woman.
Not as nasty as a man who looks like he bathes in cheeto dust.
Not as nasty as a man who is a diss track to America.
From Back to broken Back he’s stomped on,
his words are just more white noise ruining this national anthem.
I’m not as nasty as confederate flags being tattooed across my city;
maybe the south actually is going to rise again.
Or maybe it never really fell
I’m a Nasty Woman.
Not as nasty as a man who looks like he bathes in cheeto dust.
Not as nasty as a man who is a diss track to America.
From Back to broken Back he’s stomped on,
his words are just more white noise ruining this national anthem.
I’m not as nasty as confederate flags being tattooed across my city;
maybe the south actually is going to rise again.
Or maybe it never really fell
Because we’re still drowning in vanilla coated power.
Slavery has just been reinterpreted into the prison system.
Blacks are still in shackles and graves just for being black in front of people who see melanin as animal skin.
Tell me of a decade that didn’t have traces of white hoods burning up our faith in humanity.
I’m not as nasty as a swastika painted on a pride flag.
And I didn’t know that devils could be resurrected but I feel Hitler in these streets.
A mustache traded in for a Toupee.
The Nazis renamed The Cabinet’s Electro Conversion therapy the new gas chamber,
shaming the gay out of America, turning rainbows into suicide notes.
I’m not as nasty as racism, or fraud, or homophobia, or lies, or transphobia, sexual assault, white supremacy, white privilege, ignorance, or misogyny.
Not as nasty as trading girls like pokemon before their bodies have even evolved.
Not as nasty as your own daughter being your favorite sex symbol
Like wet dreams infused with your own genes.
But yeah! I’m a nasty woman.
A Crusty Funky Bitchy Loud Nasty woman.
Not as nasty as the combo of Trump and Pence being served as an option in my voting booth.
But I’m nasty like the battles women fought to get me in that voting booth.
Nasty like the fight to close the wage gap.
Nasty like conversations trying to convince people there isn’t such thing as a wage gap.
Remind me that this is only because women usually go into lower paying fields.
So why did last year’s top actresses make less than half of what the top actors did?
Do you realize that the World Cup shelf of the U.S. men’s soccer team is as empty as Trump’s promesses.
But the women’s team has scored three World Cups. Last year, brought in 20 million more dollars in revenue than the men’s team, but is still paid 75% less?
See even when women go into high paying careers, their wages are still cut with blades sharpened by testosterone.
Tell me why the work of a black woman and a Hispanic woman is only worth 63 and 54 percent of a white man’s paycheck?
This is not a feminist myth; this is inequality.
So we are not here to be debunked. We are here to be respected.
We are here to be nasty like blood-stained bedsheets.
In case you forgot, women can’t choose when or if they get their periods!
Trust me, if we could we would!
We don’t like having to throw away our favorite pairs of underwear!
But men can choose to not have sex.
And they know how to live without a full head of hair, so tell me why are tampons and pads still taxed, but Viagra and Rogaine isn’t?
Is your erection really worth more than protecting the messy parts of a womanhood?
Is the thinning of your hair really more embarrassing than the period-staining of my jeans?
I know it seems petty to complain about a few extra cents.
But it’s just the finishing touch on a pile of change I have yet to feel in this country.
So don’t try to justify our injustices with excuses that smell like your security when you’re walking alone to the bathroom or your car or down the street.
Securities my eyes have yet to see.
They’re too busy praying to my feet.
So you don’t mistake eye contact for wanting physical contact I’ve been zipping up my smile so you don’t think I want to unzip your jeans.
I know you forget to examine the reflection of your own privilege.
Or you may be afraid of the truth.
But I’m not afraid to be honest I’m not afraid to be nasty.
Yeah, I’m nasty like the struggle of women still beating equality into the world, because our rights have been beaten out of us for too long. But this fight will continue to embody our nastiness. I’m nasty like red, white, and blue bruises. Nasty like Elizabeth, Amelia, Rosa, Condoleezza, Sonia, Malala, Michelle,
our mothers, our sisters. Us, sisters are all nasty, like history
and our pussies ain’t for grabbing.
They’re for reminding you that our walls are stronger than America’s ever will be.
They’re for birthing new generations of
Filthy Vulgar Bossy Brave Proud Nasty women.
So if you’re a nasty woman,
say HELL, yeah.
Slavery has just been reinterpreted into the prison system.
Blacks are still in shackles and graves just for being black in front of people who see melanin as animal skin.
Tell me of a decade that didn’t have traces of white hoods burning up our faith in humanity.
I’m not as nasty as a swastika painted on a pride flag.
And I didn’t know that devils could be resurrected but I feel Hitler in these streets.
A mustache traded in for a Toupee.
The Nazis renamed The Cabinet’s Electro Conversion therapy the new gas chamber,
shaming the gay out of America, turning rainbows into suicide notes.
I’m not as nasty as racism, or fraud, or homophobia, or lies, or transphobia, sexual assault, white supremacy, white privilege, ignorance, or misogyny.
Not as nasty as trading girls like pokemon before their bodies have even evolved.
Not as nasty as your own daughter being your favorite sex symbol
Like wet dreams infused with your own genes.
But yeah! I’m a nasty woman.
A Crusty Funky Bitchy Loud Nasty woman.
Not as nasty as the combo of Trump and Pence being served as an option in my voting booth.
But I’m nasty like the battles women fought to get me in that voting booth.
Nasty like the fight to close the wage gap.
Nasty like conversations trying to convince people there isn’t such thing as a wage gap.
Remind me that this is only because women usually go into lower paying fields.
So why did last year’s top actresses make less than half of what the top actors did?
Do you realize that the World Cup shelf of the U.S. men’s soccer team is as empty as Trump’s promesses.
But the women’s team has scored three World Cups. Last year, brought in 20 million more dollars in revenue than the men’s team, but is still paid 75% less?
See even when women go into high paying careers, their wages are still cut with blades sharpened by testosterone.
Tell me why the work of a black woman and a Hispanic woman is only worth 63 and 54 percent of a white man’s paycheck?
This is not a feminist myth; this is inequality.
So we are not here to be debunked. We are here to be respected.
We are here to be nasty like blood-stained bedsheets.
In case you forgot, women can’t choose when or if they get their periods!
Trust me, if we could we would!
We don’t like having to throw away our favorite pairs of underwear!
But men can choose to not have sex.
And they know how to live without a full head of hair, so tell me why are tampons and pads still taxed, but Viagra and Rogaine isn’t?
Is your erection really worth more than protecting the messy parts of a womanhood?
Is the thinning of your hair really more embarrassing than the period-staining of my jeans?
I know it seems petty to complain about a few extra cents.
But it’s just the finishing touch on a pile of change I have yet to feel in this country.
So don’t try to justify our injustices with excuses that smell like your security when you’re walking alone to the bathroom or your car or down the street.
Securities my eyes have yet to see.
They’re too busy praying to my feet.
So you don’t mistake eye contact for wanting physical contact I’ve been zipping up my smile so you don’t think I want to unzip your jeans.
I know you forget to examine the reflection of your own privilege.
Or you may be afraid of the truth.
But I’m not afraid to be honest I’m not afraid to be nasty.
Yeah, I’m nasty like the struggle of women still beating equality into the world, because our rights have been beaten out of us for too long. But this fight will continue to embody our nastiness. I’m nasty like red, white, and blue bruises. Nasty like Elizabeth, Amelia, Rosa, Condoleezza, Sonia, Malala, Michelle,
our mothers, our sisters. Us, sisters are all nasty, like history
and our pussies ain’t for grabbing.
They’re for reminding you that our walls are stronger than America’s ever will be.
They’re for birthing new generations of
Filthy Vulgar Bossy Brave Proud Nasty women.
So if you’re a nasty woman,
say HELL, yeah.
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