| Dear Black Son, there’s people you’ve never met
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| Who fear and hate you for something that you never did
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| And these people are so self-convinced
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| Sometimes they pull the trigger, call that self-defense
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| And in that sad insanity
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| Their fear is realer to them than your humanity
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| But that’s their problem, it’s not yours
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| Listen to your pop for a second
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| These are the confessions of a father broken hearted
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| Who don’t know how to pull his only son out of a target
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| They lied when they said it was the bottom where you started
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| You were a king long before them ships departed
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| You are not defined by anybody else’s crimes
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| You don’t need to answer for what happens in their minds
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| You are not confined by their imaginary lines
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| You don’t need permission to exist with the divine
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| In fact, you don’t need permission from no one including me
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| You need not do anything but be, just breathe
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| Whatever you dream let it mean you’re free
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| Tears on your cheek never made nobody weak
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| Sometimes we got to grieve let it burn, let it bleed
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| Then let yourself heal, pray to God that it will
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| You’ve got a spirit that a bullet can’t kill
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| That doesn’t make it any less real
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| They say it takes a man to raise a man
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| You’re slipping through my hands like grains of sand
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| And here I stand, tryna wrestle with the hourglass
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| Maybe see how long I can make an hour last
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| Raising a man, who’s slipping through my hands like grains of sand
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| And here I stand, tryna wrestle with the hourglass
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| Maybe see how long I can make an hour last
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| Dear Black Son
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| Dear Black Son, I can’t protect you like I want to
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| I never judge you, all I can do is love you
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| And that’s all anyone can ever do is love you
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| All I can do is wonder how can anyone not love you?
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| They recognize divine in you
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| So they try to find themselves by defining you
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| They’re living in a myth that they don’t want to lose
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| And now they’re too terrified to face your kind of truth
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| But every single time you shine it’s proof that they might’ve threw a chain
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| around your body, never conquered you
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| They don’t always honor you but they love your culture
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| Let me show you how to move when the laws approach you
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| It’s best to keep your hands where they can see them
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| And try to understand that you’re not even what they’re peeping
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| They don’t see a sweet kid that loves his little sister
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| Their mind is seeing five hundred years of pictures
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| In fact, they don’t visualize a kid
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| They see grown man imagery, mythic masculinity
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| But you are not their fetishes or fears
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| Nor my ambition and tears, nothing can interfere
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| We’ve got to trust our seeds once we sow them
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| We hold them when they’re growing
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| But we never really own them
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| We love up on them, play with 'em, pray for them
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| And cling very closely to them moments
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| They say it takes a man to raise a man
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| You’re slipping through my hands like grains of sand
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| And here I stand, tryna wrestle with the hourglass
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| Maybe see how long I can make an hour last
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| Raising a man, who’s slipping through my hands like grains of sand
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| And her I stand, tryna wrestle with the hourglass
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| Maybe see how long I can make an hour last
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| Dear black son |