Styles P - Testify lyrics

{"Testify!"} [Verse 1: Styles P] Time I testify, listen Why Malcolm get k**ed by the N.O.I.? I'm yellow but I'm dark for real And why nobody flip when Martin was k**ed? Why Mandela did all them years All that blood, all that sweat, and all them tears? And I can name thousands more That died in the struggle from Mr. Wallace to Mr. Shakur That's why I stay influenced to "Kick in the Door" Bring the White House dudes around the blacks that's poor Notice that it's "unity" in "opportunity" Make a lil' cash, now the block is screwin' me Brand new E-Cla**, cops pursuin' me Guess they wanna see me park it Lookin at my gun, they wanna see me spark it But I'm the Ghost and if I could vote it would be for Sharpton Yeah! [Hook] S.P. {tes-ti-fy} Kweli {tes-ti-fy} equality {"Testify!"} S.P. {tes-ti-fy} Kweli {tes-ti-fy} equality [Verse 2: Talib Kweli] Yeah, yo, yo We never stop like the news watch Still trying to fill the void of Biggie and 2Pac We on them avenues with the red and the blue tops Dudes hot to shoot cops from the rooftops Too many snitch n***as TESTIFY Warrior kings sent to the bing and left to die Girls confuse s** with love so they extra dry And got birth control stuck to they necks and thigh Whoa, it ain't a game, they want the blacks all k**ed off Our caps all peeled off, n***a this real talk What's ill is y'all n***as still caught up in them battle raps There's beef in the hood, Escaladin' like Cadillacs Monkey on your back livin like a junkie Addicted to a dream, wanna die for your country Tear down the prison walls, set everyone free From freedom fighters to Askari X to Pimp C [Hook] [Verse 3: Talib Kweli] Yeah... kids slip in the clip and aim For the fortune cause the fame ain't sh** to gain They get stuck on whips and chains, so freedom slip they brain And psychologically that sh**'s insane Now that's crazy, a function of raisin the crack babies Sell it back to them cats freebasin back in the 80's (C'mon) Disco sh**, n***a co*k the toast Hi-Tek on the track and we rock with the Ghost [Verse 4: Styles P] Damn right I make gangster music But I still spit poetry like Langston Hughes did Pressures of the ghetto might make you lose it Grab AK's and go and make the news kid Might lose control, but not my soul Won't sell for the white man to buy me some white gold Sell for the black man, to buy me control P, Tek and Kweli, the sh** come from the soul y'know? [Hook] {*scatting to the end*}