You may write me down in history with your bitter, twisted lies. You may trod me in the very dirt, but still like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? It’s because I walk as if I have oil
wells pumping in my living room. Just like suns and like moons
with the certainty of tides, Just like hopes ringing high,
still I rise. Did you want to see me broken,
bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
weakened by my soulful cries? Does my sassiness upset you? Don’t take it so hard just ’cause I laugh,
as if I had gold mines digging in my own backyard. You can shoot me with your words,
you can cut me with your lies. You can kill me with your hatefulness,
but just like life I’ll rise. Does my sexiness offend you? Does it come as a surprise that I dance as if I have diamonds
at the meeting of my thighs? … not as a prophet,
but as a humble servant for you. Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise. Up from a past rooted in pain I rise. A black ocean leaping and wide,
welling and swelling, I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights
of terror and fear, I rise. Into a daybreak miraculously clear I rise. Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the hope and the dream of the slave. What does the media hope to achieve?
– And so… We want to achieve…
– Naturally… Equal rights. I’ll rise. I’ll rise. I’ll rise.