| Yo, this tangled web we weave, you know I’m sayin'
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| We judge based on what only we believe
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| And not on what God believe, all of us man we just people
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| We’re just trying to get through this thing called life, man
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| All of us made mistakes, keepin' making mistakes
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| We made being conscious into a religion instead of a tool man
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| I was trapped deep in this judgmental thing too
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| I’ma come at it like this
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| I had some thoughts about the black conscious scene
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| The red, the black, the green, Afrocentric routine
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| Whether we be consciously or sub-consciously aware or keen
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| Or just knocked on conscious
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| Now of course it’s great to feel great about your race
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| Your nose, your face, your country, even your state
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| Your spicy foods, your unique attitudes
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| What makes me, me and you, you
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| But all roots come from just one source, the Creator
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| That’s the missing link that justified having slaves for the enslaver
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| Thinking one is lesser and the others greater
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| One’s lost, the other the savior
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| On the conscious scene, you’ll find more greetings instead
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| Than in a Hallmark store, where hellos are said
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| And the brother nods his head and what’s next is his fist to his chest
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| How you doing God? |
| Oh I’m blessed
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| In the conscious scene there’s more blessed human beings
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| Than there is grass that’s green, at least that’s how it seems
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| Bingo, sayin' blessed has become just lingo
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| 'Cuz stressed is how it really goes
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| And we think deep down and when no one else is around
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| In the conscious scene we take things to the extreme
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| We won’t call a sista, sista, we call the sista queen
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| But a queen is royalty so we should treat her that way
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| But if you ask does she feel like a queen, I wonder what she’d say
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| If she’s conscious, she’d probably say I’m blessed, I guess
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| Even if her relationship’s a mess
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| In the conscious scene we don’t confess
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| Anything that’s not perfect
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| It don’t mean wack stuff ain’t goin' on
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| We just quilt our covers to be strong
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| And cover up
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| And our seemingly righteous wrongs
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| Now the conscious scene will judge you quick
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| If you now use rollers when you used to use a pick or opposite
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| One day a perm, the next all natural
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| But what change did you’re heart undergo?
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| Is the good heart determined by a Fro?
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| What if the KKK wore Fro’s would dey suddenly have soul?
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| If I don’t hug you on both sides am I truly off balance?
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| If I shake with my left hand did I truly disrespect the man?
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| Man o man, it’s hard to be a conscious African
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| If you’re conscious of the double stand
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| I mean double standards, understand?
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| Oops, I mean over stand there it goes again
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| I guess it’s just the way of the world or may be just the way of the words
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| Speakin' of words, the conscious scene is ain’t down wit the way
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| 2Pac and Biggie did dey things, now ain’t that sumpin'?
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| They’re just more blatant wit their womanizing statements
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| While we’re more slick but will make booty calls just as quick
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| Like Atari both of us controlled solely by our joysticks
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| We diss the white man for being so materialistic
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| Yet we the only ones going ballistic to get his materials
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| We ice friends to make cream
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| We pass around a pipe just to have a dream, yeah God
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| I know God is higher than we are
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| But not higher than we are, get it?
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| We can stop callin' each other niggas
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| But won’t guns still have triggers?
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| And won’t our hands still have fingers
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| And won’t we still be finger lickin', eatin' chicken black folks?
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| We must be proud of our roots but there is no substitute
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| For the fact we’re all wack
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| Whether white, Jewish, Asian, Hispanic, Indian or black
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| The truth is we’re all ruthless
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| And our love is as conditional as medical insurance
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| And without the man Jesus we’re hopeless
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| I say the man not the slave ship
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| But the one spoke of in God’s manuscript
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| And not the one painted wit a pale face at yo grandma’s crib
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| And surely not the one at dem churches that’s all preach and no live
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| If we’re gonna be conscious, let’s start really being conscious
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| About treatin' our wives with respect not takin' dey welfare checks
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| And start puttin' all fake jokas in straight up check
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| No more thinkin' wit our joysticks
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| No more takin' chick flicks at freak nic
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| While we way that the white man is so sick
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| 'Cuz until we stop bein' such hypocrites
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| We gonna continue to be knocked on conscious, can you dig it?
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| I been wonderin', isn’t it for us to wrong?
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| Standin' out here all alone when we can go home
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| I been wonderin', isn’t it for us to cry
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| Makin moves just to get by, seachin' for the light
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| I been wonderin', isn’t it for us to wrong?
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| Standin' out here all alone when we can go home
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| I been wonderin', isn’t it for us to cry
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| Makin' moves just to get by, seachin' for the light |