Tonart: F# minor
Intro 1
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Verse 1
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sit up on my roof,
headphones with the tape playin'
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Look at the stars in cars,
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Step in the booth, spit hotter than Satan
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State -of -the -art flowchart
come off like amputation
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Too many sports stars
make too much money
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Too many sitcoms aren't funny
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Not enough rap pers with skill,
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wack ones we got plenty
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not enough room on the train
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And I wanna sit down
Too many people feeling down
and depressed
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Stressed out and pulling self -doubt
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Too many jails, way too many cops
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With too many glocks
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hanging out at Starbucks coffee shops
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Too many cell phones,
credit cards, student loans
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Too many bills that I can't pay,
too many broken homes
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Too many women raising children
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on their own without a father
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I drink too much booze and not
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My people, get on down
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We coming, hear the sound
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We got you, can't you tell
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We want you, in the spell
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I like to park up in the hills
and reflect on the life I'm living
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Repeat the cityscape,
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play Stevie Wonder in a vision
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Sitting on my bumper,
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think about the sunless summer
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My first crush in Ohio,
play his album cover
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Love's in need of a love today, people
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Deeper than the stars
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and stripes of all eagles
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Deeper than the tragedy of 9 -1 -1
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So fuck a t -shirt that says
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I drink a little rum, but my Uzi weighs a ton
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Too many people die
combining God and a gun
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Freak evils in the air, try Air Force One
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All presidents are devils,
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but this cat is fucking dumb
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Opposing faiths,
killing each other's children
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Why do people thrive on
hatred and division?
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but then man made religion
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My people, get on down
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We coming, hear the sound
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We got you, can't you tell
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We want you, in the spell
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Think of the history of
your country,
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Strange fruit hanging from trees,
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Can't understand the
brain scan of a patriot
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A proud American, proud of what?
Slave ships?
Genocide is how they got your land,
honey
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Took a race of people,
poisoned them and took their country
Raped the women,
killed the men for resisting
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Cut off their hands
for not converting
Christian
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Terrorism's more than crashing
planes into buildings
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It's atom bombs on Japanese civilians
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It's plantations,
Indians on reservations
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Propaganda on your cable news station
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It's paranoia, dirty cops,
dirty lawyers
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fuckin' with these little boys
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Old men tellin' women
that they can't make a choice
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Lookin' at my Gucci,
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it's time to bring the noise
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My people, get on down
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We comin', hear the sound
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We got you, can't you tell
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Don't you see, we want you
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Don't you smell, of me
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My people
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You
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