Sho Baraka - Say Something lyrics

[Verse 1: Derek Minor] Marijuana in his jean pocket 9 millimeter, you don't want that boy to clock it Chevy Caprice cla**ic DVD in the dash Bumping that Flocka like "I will let these boys have it!" Twisted mentally, hold his pistol like, "Lord, thank you" He on a mission, no superstition, he is a gangsta In the jungle, the cops is poachers, they want him captive Rival gang, he k**ed their homie, they want him blasted Uh-huh, and that's like every single day, Brotha In the hood, I know the Devil is undercover So my goal is pull back the covers And pray to God he saves some fathers for all our mothers What I see in my backyard is no goodie Just found out that black men can't wear hoodies They see a mug shot, I see creation of God That need the Spirit to grip his soul, soften his heart Put the gun away, you don't wanna blast me Cause the Father made men like a GI Joe factory Life ain't yours to take homie, he ain't having it You have no right to break a dish in his china cabinet Oppress people plus broke, it's simple mathmatics The Desert E squeeze will flip 'em like gymnastics And I'm supposed to just say nothing Nah, I'mma say something! [Verse 2: R-Swift] Cops, armor, and shots create insomniacs The concrete jungle we struggle for survival at I push hope where reality seems to rival that I want change but become first that's where my mind is at Crack in the airwaves, dope in the beats Hypnotized mind, so no hope in the streets Old heads saying that peace is something foreign To far from the days when they were marching with Martin Priorities departed I wonder what rearranged them A whole generation and not enough men to raise 'em From the street and they wonder where I get my pain from I guess it comes from knowing what can change 'em They say that I'm wasting my time preaching But obviously to me there's no wasting my lines reaching I mix some Martin Luther with rap, a real lane Truth in the facts, some revolution for spare change [Verse 3: Sho Baraka] I used to wish for the day that I could make it up to Jacob But now I'm on my Jacob I wrestle with God, I wake up Watching these fools, I'm seeing how time's wasted It seems like the finish line moves when I'm racin' Surgical rap for those who've been scarred Disconnected from the source but still getting charged And on the TV I feel like the people need me My pen speaks freely I'm something like Phyllis Wheatley Watching what I'm eating, the poison it got me fed up Civil rights music, Malcolm X, Mandella We bump Pac, Aficans, Bob Feller Music is therapy until times get better Walking on the streets I get this disturbing feeling I don't gotta hit Uganda to see invisible children Swimming up creek Life's hard, life's a beach I seen them drowing up in my backyard Yeah, and change doesn't come from closed lips It's hard to greet peace when you live with a closed fist We want that Imago Dei, image before the fall He's our perfect picture, win, lose, or draw Life has got to be more than going to malls Finding a broad, Hammer Time and nailing them all This is rap with a cause Saints, sinners and God I will not sell my soul just to get an applause To all involved I know that the system's flawed Unjust laws has got my people on pause This is the voice of the old Negro Citians Mysterious bombings of a black holy business Am I the only witness that still feels the persistence Strong arm of a slave-owning Christian Huh, I'm back in Hell again Oh snap, is this about my melanin?