Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song On Conscious, artist - Arrested Development. Album song Heroes of the Harvest, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.01.2003
Record label: Vagabond
Song language: English
On Conscious |
Yo, this tangled web we weave, you know I’m sayin' |
We judge based on what only we believe |
And not on what God believe, all of us man we just people |
We’re just trying to get through this thing called life, man |
All of us made mistakes, keepin' making mistakes |
We made being conscious into a religion instead of a tool man |
I was trapped deep in this judgmental thing too |
I’ma come at it like this |
I had some thoughts about the black conscious scene |
The red, the black, the green, Afrocentric routine |
Whether we be consciously or sub-consciously aware or keen |
Or just knocked on conscious |
Now of course it’s great to feel great about your race |
Your nose, your face, your country, even your state |
Your spicy foods, your unique attitudes |
What makes me, me and you, you |
But all roots come from just one source, the Creator |
That’s the missing link that justified having slaves for the enslaver |
Thinking one is lesser and the others greater |
One’s lost, the other the savior |
On the conscious scene, you’ll find more greetings instead |
Than in a Hallmark store, where hellos are said |
And the brother nods his head and what’s next is his fist to his chest |
How you doing God? |
Oh I’m blessed |
In the conscious scene there’s more blessed human beings |
Than there is grass that’s green, at least that’s how it seems |
Bingo, sayin' blessed has become just lingo |
'Cuz stressed is how it really goes |
And we think deep down and when no one else is around |
In the conscious scene we take things to the extreme |
We won’t call a sista, sista, we call the sista queen |
But a queen is royalty so we should treat her that way |
But if you ask does she feel like a queen, I wonder what she’d say |
If she’s conscious, she’d probably say I’m blessed, I guess |
Even if her relationship’s a mess |
In the conscious scene we don’t confess |
Anything that’s not perfect |
It don’t mean wack stuff ain’t goin' on |
We just quilt our covers to be strong |
And cover up |
And our seemingly righteous wrongs |
Now the conscious scene will judge you quick |
If you now use rollers when you used to use a pick or opposite |
One day a perm, the next all natural |
But what change did you’re heart undergo? |
Is the good heart determined by a Fro? |
What if the KKK wore Fro’s would dey suddenly have soul? |
If I don’t hug you on both sides am I truly off balance? |
If I shake with my left hand did I truly disrespect the man? |
Man o man, it’s hard to be a conscious African |
If you’re conscious of the double stand |
I mean double standards, understand? |
Oops, I mean over stand there it goes again |
I guess it’s just the way of the world or may be just the way of the words |
Speakin' of words, the conscious scene is ain’t down wit the way |
2Pac and Biggie did dey things, now ain’t that sumpin'? |
They’re just more blatant wit their womanizing statements |
While we’re more slick but will make booty calls just as quick |
Like Atari both of us controlled solely by our joysticks |
We diss the white man for being so materialistic |
Yet we the only ones going ballistic to get his materials |
We ice friends to make cream |
We pass around a pipe just to have a dream, yeah God |
I know God is higher than we are |
But not higher than we are, get it? |
We can stop callin' each other niggas |
But won’t guns still have triggers? |
And won’t our hands still have fingers |
And won’t we still be finger lickin', eatin' chicken black folks? |
We must be proud of our roots but there is no substitute |
For the fact we’re all wack |
Whether white, Jewish, Asian, Hispanic, Indian or black |
The truth is we’re all ruthless |
And our love is as conditional as medical insurance |
And without the man Jesus we’re hopeless |
I say the man not the slave ship |
But the one spoke of in God’s manuscript |
And not the one painted wit a pale face at yo grandma’s crib |
And surely not the one at dem churches that’s all preach and no live |
If we’re gonna be conscious, let’s start really being conscious |
About treatin' our wives with respect not takin' dey welfare checks |
And start puttin' all fake jokas in straight up check |
No more thinkin' wit our joysticks |
No more takin' chick flicks at freak nic |
While we way that the white man is so sick |
'Cuz until we stop bein' such hypocrites |
We gonna continue to be knocked on conscious, can you dig it? |
I been wonderin', isn’t it for us to wrong? |
Standin' out here all alone when we can go home |
I been wonderin', isn’t it for us to cry |
Makin moves just to get by, seachin' for the light |
I been wonderin', isn’t it for us to wrong? |
Standin' out here all alone when we can go home |
I been wonderin', isn’t it for us to cry |
Makin' moves just to get by, seachin' for the light |