| A black man from the motherland
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| Speakin a language today most people don’t understand
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| Where no one could bother me
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| 'Cause I had freedom, justice, and equality
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| But then one day it was tooken away
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| And I was shipped to the U.S.A
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| A young brother made into a slave
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| To harvest the midlands and clean the chittlins
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| Given a new name, new religion
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| No freedom to vote, not even to make a decision
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| I saw my peoples, sold raped and took out
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| The rest of that stuff that Alex Haley talks about
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| They said I’m not from Asia I’m from Africa
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| And all the blacks there now are just scavengers
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| That’s the way my mind was poisoned
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| To believe that in America blacks are inferior
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| A weak mind and a body of swine
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| Only adds up to being — deaf, dumb and blind
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| Illiterate to who where what and why
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| So I ask myself: who am I?
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| «I was born.»
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| A native New Yorker on the streets
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| Known for rockin rhymes to real rough beats
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| That I found in the attic, noisy with static
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| A sound that made me a Hip-Hop fanatic
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| I made a few songs that sold OK
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| Never top 20 or plenty airplay
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| I came out hardcore, flexin cock diesel
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| Saw a little cash and pop goes the weasel
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| I had to make that change and rearrange
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| My whole rap format, no hardcore rap
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| So now all the pop charts I rule
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| Over New Kids on the Block and Paula Abdul, huh
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| I thought I made it, then my song faded
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| And none of the black stations ever have played it
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| I tried to blame it on MTV
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| And say, «Damn, they cold played me for Young MC»
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| But when you get down to it, I’m the real blame
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| Because I wanted the fame
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| Money is not only the root of all evil
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| It’s also the destruction of black people, so
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| Conjunction junction, what’s your function?
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| Being a scout or sellin out?
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| Look in the mirror at yourself, eye to eye
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| And say: who am I?
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| A solid change, have to rearrange this strange
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| Feelin I’m feelin, so appealin'
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| I am having to deal with
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| Time to forget the myth of bein black and a woman
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| Can’t get ahead, walkin on a thread, a tightrope
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| Can’t cope, don’t be a dope, have a little bit of hope
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| Runnin' your scope on affairs
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| You have to be aware, don’t flare up
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| Let your cup runneth over
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| I’m not Irish, don’t need a donut to fill up my dish
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| Nor two mango wish to wish on a star, they’re so far
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| Anyway I’m thinkin about today, not tomorrow
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| I’m not a follower of anyone
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| My time has come, it’s already here
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| My message is clear
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| Like the women of long ago, I am also here
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| Also to show, I have the courage
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| Have the strength, I’m for equal opportunity
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| No matter the life, length of time
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| Show me a sign, should I rely on a
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| Subliminal message, should I question
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| What would seem to be, life’s told me?
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| Yes indeed, so let me speak
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| And that’s comin from the daughter of Malcolm X
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| So black women put it in your texts
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| So you can never let, opportunity pass you by
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| Or even ask yourself, who am I? |