(feat. Dead Prez)



[stic.man]

Everything is politics, Kweli, people army, you know it



[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, fuck a wave journer

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, nigga 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 class hero

Takin a stand, like a panther with an M-1 Guran

Screamin know your gun laws, self defense is a must

When we set it off I'm a be the first to bust



[Chorus: dead prez]

Yo, I'm one with my gun, I love it like my first son

It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me

Yo, I'm one with my gun, I love it like my first son

It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me



[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 fuckin with them hospitals

Get with brothas down for the cause givin it all they got

But every brother ain't a brother (word), fuck 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 plumit 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 from the office, niggas is sick of runnin

Yeah, all my soldier, raise it up, c'mon, now

(Bust ya guns) yeah, Kweli with dead prez, c'mon

(Blow blow)



[stic.man]

I'm deep in the runs 

where all that niggas give a fuck about is stackin funds

The black and young type that's packin automatic guns

If any static comes sparatic shots'll ring out

You get caught up, you get your fuckin brains blown clean out

The killers 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 niggas that passed away

Tryin to get cash the fastest way we know how, the old fashion way

Blastin, we actin like cock tecs and tenniments

My squad flex if any shit pop, and put an end to it

It's like hell, this planet I'm from consist of dilligent crack sale

Assisting off the backs of young black males

It's innocent, suspending in packed jails that benefit

White well being, while niggas 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 bitch, and it's too short

My crew sport leather, gold, camoflauge, rugged denim

Deadly in venom, totin buckets with nothin in 'em

But Rawkus, some ill mothafuckas for real

Straight hustlas with nothin but a taste for kill



[Chorus x4]



[Talib Kweli: talking]

Yeah, c'mon, all my soldiers

Brooklyn where you at

Florida, Cincinnati where you at

Africa where you at, yo