Black Republican

(album: Hip Hop Is Dead - 2006)

I know you can feel the magic, baby
Turn the motherfucking lights down
Esco, whattup? (Whattup, homie?)
I mean, it's what you expected, ain't it? (Hahaha)
Let's go... uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh
Turn the music up in the headphones
Uh, yeah, that's perfect (yeah, right, right)
Uh, uh, you gotta take ya time, make a nigga wait on this motherfucker (hahaha!)
Make niggas mad and shit like
Niggas usually just start rapping after four bars, nigga, go in!
Just start dancing in this motherfucker
Yeah, (yeah) we just come outta nowhere

I feel like a Black Republican, money I got coming in
Can't turn my back on the hood, I got love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in him (nah)
Probably end up back in the hood, like, "Fuck it then"

Huddling over the oven, we was like brothers then (what?)
Though you was nothing other than a son of my mother's friend
We had covenant, who would've thought the love would end?
Like Ice Cold's album (uh), all good things
Never thought we sing the same song that all hoods sang
Thought it was all wood-grain, all good brain
We wouldn't bicker like the other fools, talk good game
Never imagine all the disaster that one good reign, could bring
Should blame, the game, and I could
It's kill or be killed, how could I refrain?
And forever be in debt, and that's never a good thing
So the pressure for success can put a good strain
On a friend you call best, and yes it could bring
Out the worst in every person, even the good and sane
Although we rehearsed it, it just ain't the same
When you put in the game at age sixteen
Then you mix things: like cars, jewelry, and Miss Thing
Jealousy, ego, and pride, and this brings
It all to a head like a coin, cha-ching
The root of evil strikes again, this could sting
Now the team got beef between the Post and the Point
This puts the ring in jeopardy – indefinitely

I feel like a black republican, money I got coming in
Can't turn my back on the hood, I got love for them (uh, uh)
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in him (nah)
Probably end up back in the hood, I'm like, "Fuck it then"
I feel like a black militant taking over the government
Can't turn my back on the hood, too much love for them (nah)
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in him
Probably end up back in the hood, I'm like, "Fuck it then"

I'm back in the hood, they like, "Hey Nas" (uh)
Blowing on purp, reflecting on they lives (uh)
Couple of fat cats, couple of A.I.'s
Dreaming of fly shit instead of them gray skies
Gray 5s, haters wishing our reign dies
Pitch, sling pies, and niggas they sing, "Why"? (uh)
Guess they ain't strong enough to handle their jail time
Weak minds keep trying, follow the street signs
I'm standing on the roof of my building
I'm feeling the whirlwind of beef, I inhale it
Just like an acrobat ready to hurl myself, through the hoops of fire
Sipping 80 proof, bulletproof under my attire
Could it be the forces of darkness
Against hood angels of good, that form street politics?
Makes a sweet honest kid, turn illegal for commerce (uh)
To get his feet out of them Converse – that's my word

I feel like a black republican, money keep coming in
Can't turn my back on the hood, I got love for them (uh, uh)
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in him (nah)
Probably end up back in the hood, ah, "Fuck it then"
I feel like a black militant taking over the government
Can't turn my back on the hood, too much love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in him
Probably end up back in the hood, I'm like, "Fuck it then"