Lyrics Sharp Shooters - Talib Kweli, Dead Prez

Sharp Shooters

The white man came to Africa with rifles and Bibles
Heard the name, started changin' the titles
Now instead of Chaka, call me Nat Turner with the burner
Freedom fighter for this revolution, fuck a wage earner
See, I be what John Wilkes Booth was to Lincoln—blam!
Sirhan Sirhan, peepin' through the curtains with my eyes on a Kennedy
Dead prez, politic, know your enemy
Keep your toast close
Because political power come from the barrel of it
We in a war, nigga—leave it or love it
Since they got us in a scope like a P.E.
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I watch for the po-po (woop woop) and train at the dojo
Not a gun Deniro but a working class hero
Takin' a stand, like a Panther with an M-1 Garand
Screamin', «Know your gun laws, self-defense is a must»
When we set it off I’mma be the first to bust
Yo, I’m one with my gun, I love it like my first son
It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me
I’m one with my gun, I love it like my first son
It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me
What do you do?
When the police kick in your door like, «Get on the floor»
Shoot you in the back ‘cause who you are and where you at’s against the law
You try to protect your home with the illest arsenal possible
Learn how to heal yourself and stop fuckin' with them hospitals
Get with brothas down for the cause, givin' it all they got
But every brother ain’t a brother (word), fuck around and get shot
By these black kings that pack Gatlings
To make a rat sing like Nat King before they start blasting (blow!)
With no accuracy, handling they beef in the public
Now an innocent child got a bag for a stomach
Property value plummet every time a shot is fired (c'mon)
People feelin' betrayed, so they take the street to riot
Cops fire shots and try to stop the spirit, takin over the entire block
Politicians say it’s time to march
But people is past that, ready to blast at whatever comin'
From the master or for office, niggas is sick of runnin'
Yeah, all my soldiers raise it up.
C’mon.
Now
(Bust ya guns) Yeah, Kweli with dead prez.
C’mon
(Blow blow)
I’m deep in the runs
Where all that niggas give a fuck about is stackin' funds
The black and young type that’s packin' automatic guns
If any static comes, sporadic shots’ll ring out
You get caught up, you get your fucking brains blown clean out
The killers reign supreme, survival of the illest brain and scheme
For cream, you know the game in my vein
I feel the pain for all the niggas that passed away
Tryna get cash the fastest way we know how, the old fashion way
Blastin', we actin like cock Tecs and tenements
My squad flex if any shit pop, and put an end to it
It’s like hell.
This planet I’m from consist of diligent crack sale
Assisting off the backs of young black males
It’s innocent, suspending in packed jails that benefit
White well-being when niggas catch hell just for being
You might as well have a life of crime
Ain’t nothin' free in this life.
I stick a nine in ya spine for mine
No time for talk ‘cause I walk when I talk
Stalkin' sidewalks, of course, with the eyes of a hawk
Crack a quart to get away from this trife world and thought
Puffin' Newports ‘cause life’s a bitch, and it’s too short
My crew sport leather, gold, camouflage, rugged denim
Deadliest venom, totin' buckets with nothin' in 'em
But ruckus, some ill muthafuckas for real
Straight hustlas with nothin' but a taste for kill
I stay one with my gun, I love it like my first son
It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me
I’m one with my gun, I love it like my first son
It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me
Yeah, c’mon.
All my soldiers.
Brooklyn, where you at?
Florida, Cincinnati,
where you at?
Africa, where you at?
Yo…