I am queen bee, worker thats me,spending so much time praying on my knees,

how can i be a mother when i fail to see, that it starts with being free, being locked up in a honey comb scared i'll never leave,

worring so much of what people will think of me,

yellow and black or black and yellow doesn't make a difference because im still in this hell hole,

my wings are broken i can no longer fly, what will happen before i eventually die, of the broken promises, dreams and lies,

who am i to tell little bumble bee that it'll be alright,

if i can't get through the heart ace and pain when she's no insight,

how can i be queen bee when my life is just a lie, how can i heal untill it's time to take flight,

to be ms.bumble be and know my rights,

it starts with honey called life.