| Verse 1:
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| Dreams, manifested, I grabbed them ambidextrous
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| I love the world but this the music Alabama mess with
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| Sip it slow like I’m a fan of Texas
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| Sip it slow like Big Mo and Fat picked a random guest list
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| Got me on my plan of excellence
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| Conscious women got me on my checklist
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| So you know they
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| And I don’t need no besties
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| All I got is my word and my testes don’t test this reckless shit
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| I might put the mic down on some civil rights shit
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| Like Killer Mike did I’m on some kill the hype shit
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| like you need your light fixed
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| And treat you like you OJ and just kill the white bitch
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| Tomorrow’s never promised I don’t need no psychic
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| And smoking weed might be one of your only vices
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| But they’ll treat you like you OJ and just kill the white bitch
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| They’ll treat you like you OJ and just-
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| Chorus
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| Uh, they don’t want black leaders to exist
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| Unless it’s points rebounds and assists
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| Touch downs rushing yards of the blitz
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| Don’t put down your raised up fist
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| When that Glock go blam and explode
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| Police won’t take your soul
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| When there’s no one left to convict
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| Don’t put down your raised up fist
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| Verse 2:
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| We’ve been afflicted, convicted, predicted, evicted, restricted
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| And it’s never been simplistic
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| Even though we are gifted, uplifted, artistic, exquisite, holistic but we
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| treated like we sadistic |