Yasiin Bey - Sharp Shooters lyrics

[Intro – stic.man] Everything is politics. I Ching. Kweli. People Army. You know it… [Verse 1 – M-1] The white man came to Africa with rifles and Bibles Heard the name, started changin' the titles Now instead of Chaka, call me Nat Turner with the burner Freedom fighter for this revolution, f** a wage earner See, I be what John Wilkes Booth was to Lincoln—blam! Sirhan Sirhan, peepin' through the curtains with my eyes on a Kennedy Dead prez, politic, know your enemy Keep your toast close Because political power come from the barrel of it We in a war, n***a—leave it or love it Since they got us in a scope like a P.E. logo I watch for the po-po (woop woop) and train at the dojo Not a gun Deniro but a working cla** hero Takin' a stand, like a Panther with an M-1 Garand Screamin', “Know your gun laws, self-defense is a must” When we set it off I'mma be the first to bust [Hook – stic.man] Yo, I'm one with my gun, I love it like my first son It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me I'm one with my gun, I love it like my first son It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me [Verse 2 – Talib Kweli] What do you do? When the police kick in your door like, “Get on the floor” Shoot you in the back ‘cause who you are and where you at's against the law You try to protect your home with the illest arsenal possible Learn how to heal yourself and stop f**in' with them hospitals Get with brothas down for the cause, givin' it all they got But every brother ain't a brother (word), f** around and get shot By these black kings that pack Gatlings To make a rat sing like Nat King before they start blasting (blow!) With no accuracy, handling they beef in the public Now an innocent child got a bag for a stomach Property value plummet every time a shot is fired (c'mon) People feelin' betrayed, so they take the street to riot Cops fire shots and try to stop the spirit, takin over the entire block Politicians say it's time to march But people is past that, ready to blast at whatever comin' From the master or for office, n***as is sick of runnin' [Interlude – Talib Kweli] Yeah, all my soldiers raise it up. C'mon. Now (Bust ya guns) Yeah, Kweli with dead prez. C'mon (Blow blow) [Verse 3 – stic.man] I'm deep in the runs Where all that n***as give a f** about is stackin' funds The black and young type that's packin' automatic guns If any static comes, sporadic shots'll ring out You get caught up, you get your f**ing brains blown clean out The k**ers reign supreme, survival of the illest brain and scheme For cream, you know the game in my vein I feel the pain for all the n***as that pa**ed away Tryna get cash the fastest way we know how, the old fashion way Blastin', we actin like co*k Tecs and tenements My squad flex if any sh** pop, and put an end to it It's like hell. This planet I'm from consist of diligent crack sale Assisting off the backs of young black males It's innocent, suspending in packed jails that benefit White well-being when n***as catch hell just for being You might as well have a life of crime Ain't nothin' free in this life. I stick a nine in ya spine for mine No time for talk ‘cause I walk when I talk Stalkin' sidewalks, of course, with the eyes of a hawk Crack a quart to get away from this trife world and thought Puffin' Newports ‘cause life's a b**h, and it's too short My crew sport leather, gold, camouflage, rugged denim Deadliest venom, totin' buckets with nothin' in 'em But ruckus, some ill muthaf**as for real Straight hustlas with nothin' but a taste for k** [Hook x2 – stic.man] I stay one with my gun, I love it like my first son It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me I'm one with my gun, I love it like my first son It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me [Outro – Talib Kweli talking] Yeah, c'mon. All my soldiers. Brooklyn, where you at? Florida, Cincinnati, where you at? Africa, where you at? Yo…