Lyrics Runaway Slave - Pep Love, Otayo Dub

Runaway Slave

Share-cropping and wet nursing and cotton chopping
No benefits for hip-hopping, or stock options
But it’s better than drug dealing, stealing or robbing
My brain is bugged
I need to get a lobotomy to get this sickness out of me
My split personality is like a dichotomy
The big psychology of a slave that had his soul saved
Like a black baptist in the South
Cradle to the grave
So show the next generation a way to behave
My bars are self-therapy for breaking the chains
Who’s that peeking in my window?
The internet television government men in trench coats
The spirit of my ancestors invoked
So the devil won’t test my testicles, you know?
We bringing the gospel, and singing the blues
What once was one now seems we thinking in two
1, 2 to smash Kunta Kinte
Name will be Toby by the 40th lash
He don’t want to be a slave, but he do what he has
So when he cries you’ll be seeing him laugh and rise from the ash
Yeah, we give it all we got to get, all we got to get, get it and go
Yeah, we give it all we got to get, all we got to get a little bit more
I’m like an ex-convict trying to get a job
And smoking and drinking and thinking about a nigga problems
I’m getting involved in my own downfall
Probably be doing better living life as an outlaw
My credit score is a metaphor for whip scar
I’m ready for war cause peace is a jigsaw
You don’t really want to see a nigga get pissed off
My pistol wiil be popping like bottles of Cristal
Like them big balling cats, I kinda want to
Run up on them and give up all their scratch
But I don’t want to be a criminal
And I only want to get high because I been living so low in the hole
The path laid was never paved in gold
But a lot of rigamarole when this slave was sold
Down the Mississippi, I’m only skinny dipping
And if I drown, ain’t no telling who I’ll be bringing with me
The world running afraid, they keep running
But the sun gonna come in the day, it keep coming
It keep coming, it keep coming
The sun gonna come in the day
Reading these words, like it’s Nat Turner written
Spitting these verses like the last words of wisdom
Ripping through the fields, this one for real, missing these meals
But don’t take my silence as an admission of guilt
No response, I just mean I’m pleading the fifth
When these dogs get let loose but you won’t see me miss
Wasn’t never exempt, couldn’t never repent
For what some had to do just to get where they is
Fist is clenched tight, so that he grip mics
Thinking that they grown, but living a bitch life
And this is the vice, putting these words out
Wasn’t born to sacrifice my rights, I just learned how