| My Ameri, kinda sorta
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| Like a carnivore, I say we out of order
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| I just want to eat
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| And they just want the beef so I serve it well done
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| They just want the beef so I serve it well done
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| They just want the beef so I serve it well done
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| Chef Melanin, roast a barbeque pelican in the fire pit
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| Kumbaya with 808's is sorta kinda lit
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| Let’s stick our sticks into the fire pit
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| And then raise them into the sky
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| And then they will turn in into the torches
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| Or the lanterns, and we chase after the ones that’s in the darkness
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| Walk in two by twos or four by fours, light up your crosses
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| See, we don’t even need to wear a hoodie no more
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| What we look like is irrelivant
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| In the sanctuary is an elephant
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| Just because I call you my brother
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| That don’t mean that you will not hate my colour
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| It’s out of the ordinary that the order you see me
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| Is only the way they portray me on TV
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| See I put my thoughts on CD’s
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| So it beats up on your eardrum
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| The black man, why you fear them
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| Your freedom only lasts as long as the echo they hearin'
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| The same desk I wrote this verse on, I got from pier one
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| Could have been made from the same wood ancestors hung from from
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| Oh, don’t you find that ironic oh
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| Don’t you find that bubonic oh
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| I got to run fast like Sonic
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| Still got slave masters on my money
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| Go outside, it’s not sunny
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| I really wonder what they want from me
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| I hope they get a chance to hear my heart speak
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| Cause all we got in common is the heartbeat
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| All we got in common is the heartbeat
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| All we got in common is the heartbeat |