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