| I be the cop in a plan fella
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| And I ain’t got the patience of Mandela
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| Rather hop out the van yelling «Battlecry»
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| I’mma, give us free or give us die
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| Patrick Henry said in 1775
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| And he’s an American patriot
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| So why when I say it they claim it’s hatred
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| Pot calling the kettle, they paint you as racist
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| When they still discriminate cause the color of our faces
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| Disenfranchise ingentrificated
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| Disproportionately incarcerated
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| Racial profiled them, slayed them
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| Hood with bamboos or they miseducated
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| Shit, but still we rise
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| Against Oscar Grant’s murder and Oakland homicide
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| Fuck police it’s time to ride
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| Against the American injustice, human rights violations worldwide
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| Your struggle is our struggle, our muscle is your muscle
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| From y’all fort to the back, it’s all struggle
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| Ended, but the fight ain’t done
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| Al Capone shit, hand me my machine gun
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| I’m that Malcolm X photo, By Any Means
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| Peaking out the window with a M16
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| Still sagging my jeans, yeah my wrist may gleam
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| Bumping Wu-Tang, cause in this life it take cream |
| And after your money right, then you go to war
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| That’s Machavellian, and The Art of War’s core
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| I’m like Bilbo taking the ring to Mordor
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| Battling orcs, politicians, wizards and more whores
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| And if I’m forced to fight, the battle must be won
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| Starting with bitch niggas in these slums
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| Racist ass corporate America wrote the play
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| But my watchmen said «Freedom ain’t free»
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| And I wish the war was there, but the rich kill the weak
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| And I wish we could all just hold hands like Dr. King’s speech
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| But it ain’t so — 'till that day comes
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| I’m front line soldier, hand me my machine gun
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| The laws of God are above the laws of man
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| I’m like David fighting Goliath, AK in my hand
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| Make em today when it’s time to take a stand
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| Black Panther Party, Nation of Islam
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| W.E. |
| Du Bois, Frank Douglas and so on
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| Cause they send you to Iraq to drop bombs
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| Come home and they still gon' call you a nigga
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| Boys call us, how’s that not clear?
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| I’ve gone fishing, I’m not here
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| I’m on the roof, sniper rifle, I will pop here
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| Or hop out with the saw chase a nigga down |
| Place ammunition, point, lay a nigga down
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| Lyrically I weigh a thousand pounds
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| We withstand one hand holding a 50 cal
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| Assassinate all my enemies, then I’m out
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| Hide in Bolivia then escape to Liberia |