| Does this shit make you intimidated?
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| Does this shit make you intimidated?
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| Please don’t call me conscious
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| Don’t call it political
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| Please don’t deem this lyrical
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| These are negro spirituals
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| That’s the generation raising guns against they General
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| Raisin in the sun, I’ll raise my son to be less cynical
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| Raised on a steady diet of Chef Boyardee
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| Beef-a-roni cup, a slice of bread, and Hi-C
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| I took the shackles off my feet like Mary Mary
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| Now I’m more marionettist
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| Pulling strings, you’re merely Miri Ben-Ari nigga
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| Please, nigga
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| Woah
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| I know you want to flaunt
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| I want to flaunt too
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| But it ain’t been that long
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| Since there was niggas in the Bronx Zoo
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| So imma pour some out for Ota Benga
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| Jury said I been resistant
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| Mama said say no to strangers and I listened, uh
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| Picture God grabbing Adam by the Adam’s Apple
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| Just as Adam’s having at the apple
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| Now those atoms got you grabbing at your fuckin' Apple tablet
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| Packing up, cause there’s a black man in all black tats and
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| Does this shit make you intimidated?
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| Does this shit make you intimidated?
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| Aquemini and some Idlewild in my tidal
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| I see you Ruben Studdards been idle while I been idle
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| I notice when I walked in you niggas got quiet
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| I gave you three days grace, now I’m about to start a riot
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| Hold up
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| I was raised off a three-piece, only dark meat
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| Strangers call us niggas and darky
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| Like that’s gon' hurt us and shit
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| Like I ain’t say worse to my brothers during the dozens
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| And those same brothers
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| Ain’t out here getting murdered and shit
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| Fuck
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| I’m not naive, I see your micro-aggression
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| You may think you’re hard to read
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| You’re really hyper-expressive
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| You may think we’ll let you slide cause you described as satire
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| But even with that slack, nah your shit is not that impressive
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| We’re like the Haley Joel Osments of the undertones
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| Reading through your flag, and your skull and bones
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| Now the chickens coming home
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| Roosting on the roof of fucking Fox and CNN
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| Send reporters to the war so you can watch and see us win
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| Hoe
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| w/ Nina Simone’s To Be Young, Gifted and Black
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| Does this shit make you intimidated?
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| Does this shit make you intimidated?
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| When I looked at you
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| Yes, I knew that you can shoot me down
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| A sudden move will have me six feet in the ground
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| Please don’t be surprised
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| If I don’t compromise
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| With a knife stuck in my back, cause this is Caesar’s rise
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| Shoutout to them niggas I don’t fuck with
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| I hope you see me glowing
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| Grown men doing fuck shit and hopefully you know it
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| Mama sorry if you’re listening, I don’t cause no conflict
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| My conscience is calmness is cognitive dissonance
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| I been told it’s a slippery slope, well I’m Cool Runnings
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| My niggas pulling strings like B.B. King when the blues coming
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| Viewers ride the fence, tryna prove something
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| Choose something
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| You ain’t even eating, nigga chew something
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| Do something
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| Shawty called and told me I done changed since I been in it
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| Like, since I been kinda winning, I been condescending
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| I been spending Earth, Wind and Fire
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| Earth, Wind, and Firebending
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| I been screaming «nigga» at niggas so much that I’m offended
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| Albeit, I’m being heartless
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| Done fought so many demons, I’m exhausted
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| Had the city on my back, now there’s a target
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| Your battle is uphill, you’re doing crossfit
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| Cause you’re shit
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| Your feeble chatter is fecal matter, you only talk shit
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| Donald Trump: I have a great relationship with the blacks, I’ve always had a
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| great relationship with the blacks
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| Karen Hunter: Uh, no actually, as one of «the blacks» I can tell you,
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| clearly Chris he does not have a great relationship with «the blacks»
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| Who knew our walls could grow from malt liquor
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| You coward out when there was more than meets the eye my nigga
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| Who knew an animal could fall in love
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| Who knew our walls could grow from liquor |