Lyrics If (Produced by Oddisee) - Kenn Starr, Asheru, Talib Kweli

If (Produced by Oddisee)

If it wasn’t for this and it wasn’t for that
Oh, this would be a better world
Yes, ladies and gentlemen
You do have Ken Starr in the house, and Asheru
Talib Kweli
If it wasn’t for the way that we live
Too many single mothers raisin' our kids
Too many brothers caged in the pen
Engaged in the bid, enslaved by the pigs
If it wasn’t for crooked cops that pop shots raisin' our wig
That send slugs reckless
Plus these thugs with a death wish
That take your life for that ice that flooded your necklace
The blood of the helpless and innocent
If it wasn’t for so-called friends that turn Benedict
Snakes in the grass and crabs in the lake
Cause I’m black and it’s late, get harassed by the jake
And blasted with eight times five plus one
Lethal deposit, reach for your wallet, they bust guns
That why I trust none and I keep to myself
I can’t blame cats that pack heat in they belt
And quick to clap, never givin' in
If it wasn’t for this and that
It’d be a better world that we livin' in
If it wasn’t for a mic check I wouldn’t have a check at all
Nowadays you can’t live that way
The market’s way too unstable
There’s too many pimp labels
Playin rappers like a ho, manhandlin' the dough
Demandin' them to go run the track to bring the loot back
Now you playin' for the team and the captain is cream
You got the dream to push a mean two-seater
With a diva ridin' shotgun just to say you got one
You make the songs but labels only want the hot ones
Send you back to the drawin' board until you got some
Now I guess we got problems
Even your all-creative mind ain’t enough to try an' solve 'em
The doors revolve and younger cats are starvin'
They want it more than you, might go to war wit' you
To reap the heap of gold that’s at the end of the rainbow
You can’t be mad, man, that’s how the game go
Yeah, come on, yeah, here we go, yeah…
I’m 'bout to show you what this black power is
It’s the red, black and green on the wrist, how I live
In the cold world, where we bust off the black llamas
Every winter where we lose more sun than black mamas
If hip hop got seasons, right now it’s spring
Life when e’rybody sellin' death, kiss the ring (yeah)
You know how it go, people change colors like autumn
Kids learn through experience, fuck what a teacher taught 'em
Puff a woolie for boredom, rough or at least accordin'
To parents who paid enough attention to at least ignore 'em
Blowin' up mics, throwin' up signs, but how, nigga
Is you confusin' it with crime?
When they write the history books
History looks past prisoners of war
That’s what my listeners are for
We turn a tide on this fuckery (?)
Ride on this fuckery (?)
Shoulda never let me in this industry
You stuck with me