Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Militant Man, artist - Trapo. Album song Oil Change, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 01.08.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Trapo
Song language: English
Militant Man |
| I’m like, almost, almost, almost out of weed, but like |
| Maybe that’s a good thing |
| Probably should be sober for this one |
| Hahaha |
| Ayy cut the fan and shit off |
| This is my, this is like the, I don’t know like |
| The message track or some shit, the postive |
| I don’t know, um |
| Militant man, we all want to be brave |
| We all want to be someone that we can’t |
| Forced to be who we are |
| 'Til you’re dead in the grave |
| The grave, yeah |
| Forced to ride in the car |
| That I wish I could roll in |
| Forced to live 'til tomorrow |
| Forced to make it to Monday |
| Forced to be who we are |
| (Forced to be who we are |
| Forced to be who we are, all the time) |
| What I need to prove right now? |
| When everybody dead, everybody dyin' |
| Everybody victim to they mind |
| Sayin' jump, blood stains on the ground |
| What I need to prove right now? |
| They’ll make me (militant), we’ll make me (militant), I’ll make me |
| What I need to prove right now? |
| When everybody dead (with everybody dyin') |
| Militant man, we all want to be brave |
| We all want to be someone that we can’t |
| Forced to be who we are |
| 'Til you’re dead in the grave |
| The grave, yeah |
| Still walkin' like militants, talkin' like banishment |
| Flexin' our innocence, my sentence still the same |
| Mary jane, stickin' to every thread in my jeans |
| Scan then refresh the page |
| My Twitter read genocide, forty million dollar slaves |
| And those who 'member me on the pavement |
| For militants and racists |
| And the job I acquired come with stipulation |
| Dream answers renovated |
| Out shoppin' without the paper get dangerous |
| Don’t like when them J’s is |
| Stolen, but you rock 'em like you bought 'em on vacation |
| Only 'cause you won it in a lotto |
| Family taught you greet him, if he force it, we can flap him |
| I’ma dress that bitch for problem, I’ll endorse it, niggas wildin' |
| We ain’t go to college, we ain’t get the job |
| We just clockin' coppers, we just know how to survive |
| Lessons taught from the flawed |
| No laws, but follow our own methods |
| Leadin' you to a deathbed, bad decisions |
| Well granny was a diabetic, daddy was a diabetic |
| So much bloodshed, we pray it never pass down |
| We just readin' scriptures |
| Taking pictures with a fan and switchin' vixens |
| Eat so I don’t feel the liquor when I pass out |
| Forget the light, perception’s just a twisted |
| Have my spirit refurnished with holy water and burn at the smoky altar |
| Them sands reek of nostolgia |
| Militant man, we all want to be brave |
| We all want to be someone that we can’t |
| Forced to be who we are |
| 'Til you’re dead in the grave |
| The grave, yeah |
| Hope I don’t get caught up |
| Tryna be the bigger man |
| Extend my hand when I should’ve extended lead |
| Shoot and leave bended legs in the room, uh |
| Starin' at the wall, uh |
| Contemplating ways to get nickels for my thoughts, uh |
| Trouble on my mind, almost everything is dark |
| The grave |