D - F#m

[Verse]
 D
 don't wanna be somebody's mother 
 F#m
 don't wanna be a wife 
D
 tell me i'm all that you're scared of 
 F#m
 call me king dyke 
    G         Bm             D
"so are you a boy or are you just your trauma?" 
G            Bm           D
i'm not a broken thing or one or the other 

[Chorus]
D               F#m
sweet cis teen, sweet cis teen
D               F#m 
sweet cis teen, sweet cis teen 

[Verse]
D                                    F#m
i can't leave the house every time i bleed per month 
D                                    F#m
can't reclaim what you don't know as dysphoria 
    G       Bm     D
and i don't hate myself 
G          Bm             D
i'm just a dead name, and you're in my way 

D               F#m
sweet cis teen, sweet cis teen 
D               F#m
sweet cis teen, sweet cis teen 

[Spoken Word]
F#m - A - D - C#m

to be trans is to be your own pall bearer— 
to carry the weight of a dead person around with you. 
if my gender could be sold, 
it wouldn't fit inside the pages of ms. magazine. 
my gender can't speak, 
but even if it could, 
it'd stay hidden in the corner of every room 
trying to keep quiet anyway. 
learn to piece my parts together on an assembly line— 
learn to code a language where i am not excluded 
if my gender had a pair of arms, 
it'd point out all the rallies i didn't get the invitation for. 
how in the second wave we fought for gender equality 
and limited the number to two. 
if my gender had legs, it would sprint. 
catch up with all the progress that feminism is making. 
all the FUCKING progress that 
T.E.R.F. feminism is making.