Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song On Conscious , by - Arrested Development. Song from the album Heroes of the Harvest, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 18.01.2003
Record label: Vagabond
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song On Conscious , by - Arrested Development. Song from the album Heroes of the Harvest, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопOn 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 |
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