Nappy Roots - Pete Rose lyrics

Cell phone age Tired of "k** Obama" everywhere I piss Roll a bowl and take a toke, twenty-five on a back road Home boy, tell them what you came for Yup, all the G's and hit the drink Grab the hoes and hit the damn Mother fu*k what a n***a think Us country folk losing hope, ain't seen much a change Vote upon a vote, but I keep on seeing just the same They say, "home of the free, the land of the brave" I say, "home of the greed, the land of the slave" Got me, chasing this cheese, I'm stuck in a maze Got you like, "fu*k a degree, fu*k it, get paid." Got Craiglist k**ers, deadfish swimmers Go ahead, mark the sins of deadless guerillas Black fist in the air, Olympic winners Give you all you can handle like catfish dinners [Hook] Scene unfolds Calm breeze, trees Dirt roads, young bloods G's, street codes Bank rolls, cheese Pete Rose, get yours Got this man f** a wife, Catholic f** a kid Boys in the apartment will take your sh*t!!! Watching some Indian -- look at this damn fool! Shot a judge, but let a White b**h drink POO!!!!!!! The things a man will do to try to make an honest living Seems impossible when opportunity is missing On top of that, a lot of bills and got to feed the children Uncle Sam is full of sh**, we playing Mega Millions... My homie just got out, my cousin going back in Three-quarters of my neighborhood, still packed in a pin I swear the justice system's set up, to target Black men This ain't no new phenomenon, been going on since back then Back in Louv (Louisville) where the plot thickens Homicide, looking for leads, the clock's ticking Shoot the block down, the cops tripping Community motto is "stop snitching" Pissed off, they beat a child up for shoplifting [Hook] Scene unfolds Calm breeze, trees Dirt roads, young bloods G's, street codes Bank rolls, cheese Pete Rose, get yours I don't roll blunts, and I don't do paper I'm in the corner to myself getting straight-vapored I'm from the Boondocks, A.K.A Bronies Home Po' folks still ball like a snooty hoe Batter batter, swing... Barry Bonds Steroid or not, he still had to hit the ball Dreadlocks don't mean what they used to mean Now they jiving Li'l Wayne, trying to k** a man Yup, I'm on my Pete Rose, bet it on it, make a k**in' Before I lay my head down, I'm trying to get a billion I used to do it for the love, I kind of lost the feelin' fu*k a record deal, middle finger towards the ceilin' I'm in the bucket, piping to Nantucket I brown bag it then I rear cuff it -- f** it! Black tees, if the tees low, cut-chuck it The old school P can crushed it [Hook] Scene unfolds Calm breeze, trees Dirt roads, young bloods G's, street codes Bank rolls, cheese Pete Rose, get yours