| Ah, ah, thank you, Mr. President
|
| You sat inside a celly for more than a quarter a century
|
| And in my country, that mean you caught a felony
|
| Forget about running for office boss, you ain’t even voting
|
| When you write your own rules, you can never lose
|
| And the colonizers called you terrorist and run the schools
|
| So it must be true, they say the problem was you
|
| But I been to Cape Town, bro, what was you 'posed to do?
|
| Ooh, God forgive me for my brash delivery
|
| But I remember vividly what apartheid did to me
|
| And what recent years taught us, peacefully protesting
|
| No one’ll care until someone tosses a molotov in the air
|
| It ain’t fair, but you called hate a cancer
|
| Said love was the answer
|
| And gladly took 10−25 with your fist high
|
| Refused to accept death until the end of apartheid
|
| I take shots at your sacred cows
|
| I dance with skeletons in closets
|
| I point at elephants in the room
|
| And make a mockery of heroes
|
| Yeah, pick your poison
|
| Pick your poison, boys, pick your poison
|
| Pick your poison 'cause it’s all deadly
|
| Ah, ah, thank you Mr. President
|
| All hail the tough-as-nails Mr. Old Hickory
|
| When you write your own rules, you could never lose
|
| They say you a hero and they run the schools
|
| And this land is your land except Louisiana
|
| We just bought that, now we got a destiny to manifest
|
| Which means current occupants must vacate immediately
|
| It seems in your homeland, you are now trespassing
|
| You witnessing the birth of the Indian reservation concept
|
| Imagine China putting flags on your doorstep
|
| And said God sent 'em, so get to gettin'
|
| But the story of the victor is the one that gets written
|
| Ooh, God forgive me for my brash delivery
|
| But I remember vividly what Lewis and Clark did to me
|
| His face is on our currency, the struggle is real
|
| A man whose legacy is literally a trail of tears
|
| Ooh, I take shots at your sacred cows
|
| Dance with skeletons in closets
|
| I point at elephants in the room
|
| And make a mockery of heroes
|
| Ayy, pick your poison
|
| Pick your poison, boys, pick your poison
|
| Pick your poison 'cause it’s all deadly
|
| Will the truth it set you free?
|
| Depends on who you read
|
| While we qualify our blame, we’re spewing partiality
|
| And we’ll never leave the past if we keep leaving out the facts
|
| So you can pick what side you’re on
|
| And you can pick your poison
|
| Yeah, pick your poison
|
| Oh, pick your poison |