[Verse 1: Derek Minor]
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Uh, marijuana in his jeans pocket
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Nine millimeter, you don't want that boy to cock it
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Chevy Caprice classy
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DVD and the dash bumpin' that Flocka like, "I will let these boys have it!"
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Twisted mentally, hold his pistol like "Lord, thank ya"
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He on a mission, no superstition, he is a gangsta
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In the Jungle, the cops is posted, they want him captive
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Rival gang, he killed they homie, they want him blasted
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Uh-huh, and that's like every single day brother
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In the hood I know the Devil is undercover
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So my goal is: pull back the covers
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And pray to God that he saves some fathers for all our mothers
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What I see in my backyard is no goodie
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Just found out that black men can't wear hoodies
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They see a mug shot, I see Creation of God
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They need the Spirit to grip his soul, soften his heart
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Put the gun away, you don't wanna blast me
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'Cause the Father makes men like a GI Joe factory
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Life ain't yours to take, homie he ain't havin' it
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You have no right to break a dish in his china cabinet
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Oppress people plus broke, it's simple mathematics
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The Desert E squeeze will flip 'em like gymnastics
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And I'm supposed to just say nothing? Nah, I'm a SAY SOMETHING
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[Verse 2: R-Swift]
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Cops, armors, and shots create insomniacs
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The concrete jungle we strugglin' for survival at
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I push hope where reality seems to rival that
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I want change but become first that's where my 'juana's at
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Crack in the airwaves, dope in the beats
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Hypnotized minds, so no hope in the streets
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Old heads saying that peace is something foreign
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Too far from the days where they were marching with Martin
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Priority's departed, I wonder what rearranged them
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A whole generation and not enough men to raise them
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From the street, and they wonder where I get my pain from
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I guess it comes from knowing what can change 'em
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They sayin' I'm wasting my time preaching
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But obviously to me there's no wasting my lines reaching
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I mix some Martin Luther with rap, a real lane
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Truth in the facts, some revolution for spare change
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[Verse 3: Sho Baraka]
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I used to wish for the day that I could make it up to Jacob
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But now I'm on my Jacob, I wrestle with God, wake up
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Watching these fools, I'm seeing how time's wasted
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It seems like the finish line moves when I'm racing
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Surgical rap for those who've been scarred
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Disconnected from the source, but still gettin' charged
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And on the TV, I feel like the people need me
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My pen speaks freely, I'm something like Phyllis Wheatley
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Watching what I'm eating, the poison that got me fed up
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Civil rights music, Malcolm X, Mandela
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We bump 'Pac, Africans ? Bob Feller
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Music is therapy until times gets better
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Walking on the streets, I get this disturbing feeling
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I don't need to hear Uganda to see invisible children
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Swimming up creek, yeah, life's hard
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Life's a beach, I see them drowning up in my backyard
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Yeah, and change doesn't come from closed lips
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It's hard to greet peace when you live with a closed fist
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We want that imago dei, image before the fall
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He's our perfect picture, win, lose, or draw
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Life has gotta be more than going to malls
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Finding a bra, Hammer Time and nailing 'em all
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This is rap with a cause, saints, sinners and God
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I will not sell my soul just to get an applause
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To all involved, I know that the system's flawed
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Unjust laws has got my people on poles
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This is the voice of the old Negro city-ans
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Mysterious bombings of a black-only business
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Am I the only witness that still feels the persistence?
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Strong-arm momma, slave-owning Christian
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Huh... I'm back in hell again
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Oh snap, is this about my melanin?
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Say Something
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Derek Minor |