Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I Rather Be Wrong, artist - MF Grimm. Album song American Hunger, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 24.07.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Day By Day Entertainment
Song language: English
I Rather Be Wrong |
Few bullets hit the floor while flying through the air |
Billie Jean light up concrete, some die there |
Military weapons against stones, not fair |
Gun shots in the streets, whole block scared |
Niggaz tell you they love you right before they shoot you |
Hug your momma, cry at your funeral |
It’s terrible, sinful, life here is pitiful |
God has a dark sense of humor, divine comedy |
Jokes on you, punch line is tragedy |
It’s not what he say, it’s how he deliver it |
Louis Armstrong gas me, said it was wonderful |
Bush lit the match, show souls are flammable |
Push me, don’t, I’m close to the edge |
War, I keep falling but I’m laying on floor |
So deep, drowning but I’m not in water |
In Hell, inferno, inhale, breathe fire |
In Heaven, internally, exhale, leaven Lucifer |
Fail my objective, can never be president |
Although I have all the criminal qualifications |
So now I guess I’m just like Colin Powell |
Lack of real power and blood on the conscience |
Some Caucasians see black as being contagious |
Their children love us and now act the strangest |
Wish they could go back to days when they hang us |
Man them days they hung us is still among us |
We got fake revolutionaries trying to mislead us |
Won’t bust they guns, in the head they just beat us |
Fight they own kind instead of ones who mistreat us |
Mechanicals for revolution Che Guevara never got 'em |
He couldn’t be bought by the demons who shot him |
So don’t give me that power to the people shit |
Unless you about the shit, too many niggaz died for it |
Old timers known how to spot who’s legit |
Real bankers are pros and know who’s counterfeit |
Do or live free lunch, that’s who I roll with |
We out here exposing hoes and foes the way we should |
Living good, not giving back to the hood |
Shit changed, the Klan’s black wearing hoods |
Prove me wrong, I wish brothers would |
In this song, cause I rather be wrong |
Situation is life or death |
I learned the worse devil in the world’s a black one |
They’ll speak your language, talking slang son |
If detected, here’s come another one |
Where these niggaz coming from? |
Bred with self hatred |
Eating master’s scraps, feeling that they made it |
Black churches and buses fire bombed and raided |
Program American Hunger, so they ate it |
Cook grams iron chef, ghetto gourmet |
Slow jams, while get high forget problems |
No man’s an island, but each one’s a monster |
Shit ain’t never gonna change, we can’t solve them |
How can a nation build when they don’t love each other? |
No promise land, only misery prolong |
But in this song I rather be wrong |
Armstrong Williams endorsed Bush to kill millions |
Your skin is black, but for you I have no feelings |
Your fouls are flagrant, you secret agent |
I speak for a tribe still alive but lost |
Your ancestors will haunt you 'til you see the light |
Condoleezza Rice, how you sleep at night? |
I guess the devil tucked you in real tight |
Take a look in a mirror bitch you are not white |
What do they have on you? |
Something ain’t right |
The vow taken by the president at the inauguration |
Never let this become a nigga nation |
But they’re like roaches, plan B space station |
Just incase they get the heart, choose to fight |
And want a war, can’t take it no more |
Make these niggaz literally reach for the stars |
Throwing rocks will never reach Mars, can’t touch this |
Kill 'em off, see who survives the sequel |
It’s un-American, niggaz will never be equal |
Fuck them jiggaboos, they not even people |
It’s not a myth; |
they’re only three-fifths |
Ay that nigga lover, what was on his mind? |
Probably had nigga in him, knew he was they kind |
Now a nigga for life, that’s why pennies don’t shine |
Show nonbelievers matter’s controlled by the brain |
Grimm’s David Blaine, for the world display pain |
All those multiple contusions and bruising illusions |
Magna Carta, OG Constitution |
Twelve fifteen, master plan for prostitution |
The king is a pimp wearing jewels to executions |
Father against son, that was the revolution |
We didn’t matter, so please don’t be flattered |
Africa was shattered, our blood was splattered |
I’ve died before so I don’t fear |
Took two thousand years for a nigga to reappear |
Gotta kill me cause I’m powerful, I know the deal |
Memorize lines, go along with the script |
Will my execution make my people flip? |
Will disciples be trife and slip? |
Please come together all Bloods and Crips, make purple |
Save your people, they counting on you to kill yourselves |
It’s time for us to make a change, I rather be wrong |
We now hanging ourselves |
There’s no excuse no more, gotta come together |
Gotta get shit right, shit is too fucked up |
It’s been fucked up for a long time man |
It’s beyond color though, just need to get our heads together |
People don’t realize what this world is for |
Shit ain’t for us to fucking fight each other |
Motherfuckers think man, think |
Life is too short for this shit |
Running around in circles man, like rats in a maze |