Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Treason, artist - Akir
Date of issue: 16.07.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Treason |
Yeah, One Enterprises, Viper Records |
Presents Akir, Immortal Technique |
And this is «Treason,» bitch! |
Uhh |
I’m not down with the conscious rap, or the Sambos |
My flow is cancerous milk, like Monsanto’s |
Sold through the hood in a package of murder |
I’m like white people, get fired and back with a burner |
Gauge 5 semi, with the infrared beams |
So fuck the Ku Klux and the Combat-18 |
I put bullets in your spleen, sendin' you to the grave |
And through all that, a mothafucker still get paid |
And ‘cause of that, some niggas can’t stand me, man |
But that’s the curse of the slave, like Candyman |
House niggas that traded they soul to get ahead (jiggaboo!) |
And then fucked over for placin' they faith in the feds (Snitch!) |
So while the government talk about a mission to Mars |
They leave the hood, stuck in a position to starve |
Capitalism’s a religion that makes Satan a god |
And teaches self-righteous people to embrace a facade |
It’s a cut-throat business the way that we live |
Born in the hood, tryin' to see a better life for the kids |
It ain’t wrong to make money, legit or illegal |
But it’s treason when you turn your back on your people |
Yo, yo, they be manipulatin', politicians delegatin' |
Task of perpetratin', sounds like Satan |
Makin' racist statements of abomination |
Niggas pray to somethin' sacred |
Waitin' for that force to save 'em, instead of savin' |
Movin' destinations, property papers |
Waitin on your 40 acres, 'til you old and ancient |
Swole or achin' while the hole is gapin' |
To cake to make your way in, I pray to God |
But all the amen’s in the world’ll never make your aim win |
Famous celebrities could fall off like leprosy, they tellin' me |
So I pay attention, fuck the envy and the jealousy |
Y’all niggas could save, Akir’s a latest rave |
Saw me chillin' on The Source page, fanbases span race |
Complete with shorties that blaze, be revered in my old age |
From rippin' the stage, and even then from above when I wave |
Throwin' flowers on my grave, burnin' sage |
Saying, «Thanks, Abe, who made ways for freein' the slaves.» |
It’s a cut-throat business the way that we live |
Born in the hood, tryin' to see a better life for the kids |
It ain’t wrong to make money, legit or illegal |
But it’s treason when you turn your back on your people |
Immortal Technique, Indian chief, Lord Sovereign |
Bear claw necklace and the puma moccasins |
Legal money, motherfucker, you could bring the coppers in |
‘Cause I’ma take a shit on 'em, without Johnny Coch-a-ran |
Spittin' Prometheus fire, when I speak to a liar |
I’m the last of the Essenes that’ll teach a messiah |
Rip your heart out with the technique of a Maya |
‘Cause only snitches and Kanye speak through a wire |
Freshest attire, speak with desire, close to the passion |
I fall from Elijah, size up the evilest liars |
Who think they conspire |
Music qualify as paranoia, mental occupiers |
Tight, like a pair of pliers, brain’s fried up |
And so I aspire to erase the pride, usin' amplifiers |
To inspire my people, we should hire |
Like a lion fightin' vampires, tired on his way to Zion |
Never expire, only retire when they call me Sire |
It’s a cut-throat business the way that we live |
Born in the hood, tryin' to see a better life for the kids |
It ain’t wrong to make money, legit or illegal |
But it’s treason when you turn your back on your people, yo |