America

(álbum: Black Hippy 2 - 2014)

Being here in America doesn't make you an American
Being born here in America doesn't make you an American
I see America through the eyes of the victim
I don't see any American dream, I see an American nightmare
Power to the people
We got more crack in the ghetto than they could grow in Columbia
Put this shit right in front of ya, this is America!
We got more guns in the hood than soldiers out on the line
See hustlers out on they grind, how you get rich in America
And we all just trying to make it, all around the world
For those who never mistake it, ain't no place like America
And your pride get hard to swallow when everything controlled
By that all mighty dollar, we don't fear God in America
Okay the sun rise from the east, the west marked by the beast
The crime rate in my city still rising like yeast
My young homie said, "Fuck school" and hit the block
I try to tell him, "Be thankful for the shit you got"
Cause ain't nobody gon' do nothing for you
They gave the ghetto dope to hang ourselves then kick the bucket for you
Still throwing rocks at the pen, full of dope spot
My homie just got out and locked up again
Cause ain't no discipline (Not at all)
Speaking frankly, it's all about the Benjamins
More chiefs than Indians

That's why I just be playing my part (my part), keep doing my thing thing
My phone like a telethon, it always go ring ring
My hands cash registered, they always go ching ching
Call me Joe Blow, cause I'm smoking that mean green
Gotta stay high to deal with all these characters
Cash rules everything all over America
Na nigga, we trying to ball nigga
Bullets ejecting enter give him a hot winter
From a nobody nigga to top-tener
To bitches giving head just hoping that I remember
Obama lied, ain't see shit changed
The cocaine came, with no shame, we does our thing
My gang go bang, his blog be the same, her block be the same
I just might get rid of that range and cop me a plane
I'm ghetto fabulous, not corporate but nigga rich
Jesus Christ can't believe this shit
The pistol on me make me feel grave
Ya man murked could make you feel hate
A murder squad get the?
God couldn't help me with the bills I pay
So I'm stealing the collection plate
Prayed to him, guess he answered late
On my knees just tired of trying to get his attention
So fuck it, I'm back to bitching
Everybody on welfare, nobody got healthcare
War going on right here, the president well aware
Come through your city, but won't visit the ghetto there
We in our own world from California to Delaware
The black market, yeah the hood be arranging
How the prices be inflating all the goods we exchanging
To be doctor was my earlier plan
Til experience let me know I had the world in my hand
Now I got so many girls in my pants
Don't know if they reaching for me, or the Jacksons and grams
I see my fans, they all happen to ask
Young Bo, when you gon' put the game back in the trance?
I'm like, "I'm on it, I'm on it"
You see how I be doing it
I feel it then I record it, sound the same when I'm performing
To tell the truth, the crack game was never boring
Bet they'll be the best memories we talk about touring