T-K.A.S.H. - American Nightmare (Long Version) lyrics

[Verse One] It's the return of the n***as with four-fives and hollow-tips Mobbing in the whip with camcorders to follow pigs The return of role models and watching kids Smashing on them for trying to be on the block and sh** The return for truce time and conferences Another level that's far beyond 'consciousness' The return of dope dealers who smoke n***as Taking time out to find out: Why we going Dumb in the first place? And how we Make a better way up out the worst way? It's the Return of gangster ceasefire, plans to reach higher Just like a CEO with plans to retire Return of the neighborhood baby-mama trust fund When baby-daddy get knocked, you hustle up one It's the return of thugs who come undone With drug runs and busting guns at loved ones [Hook] It's the return of the real American nightmare Standing in the section of the city that might scare s**er motherf**ers because they know they could die there But I bring light there with what I share The return of the real American nightmare Black man with a plan, that's me right there Half-Filipin', T-K.A.S.H., guillotine Sharp-shoot for the Guerilla team; it isn't a dream [Verse Two] It's the return of the n***as that's down to beat a woman Getting shot up in the dick 'til he bleed like he a woman You got to let a ho be a ho, a b**h is a b**h Regardless, that ain't no way to treat a woman Return of the hoodnik, it's free food For the families where the hood is You integrate the bad kids with the good kids And teach them all who President Bush is It's the return of the fast food boycotts All cultures from Tabasco to soy sauce The return of thugs who unplug the Playstations at night And check for toy guns in their little boy's toy box The return of the young gang member Done with gangs forever to change for the better The streets run cold but your brain is the sweater And ain't nobody else going to bring it together [Hook] [Verse Three] It's the return of the red rag, blue rag, truce flag Sneaking in the back of the White House with two mags I ain't speaking of straps, right, I'm speakin of flashlights In the night to find where the truth at It's the return of physically being on point In return no more drinking or being on joints It's the return of prisoners picking books up In return no more push-ups No more hook-ups with no more hookers Return your a** home so dinner get cooked up And if you got to creep at least get you some grown work If she wasn't born in the year of your birth, don't return the call Reparations for black folks, return it all Though we mobilize and return to burn it all Guerrilla Funk, revolutionary rebirth But we starting out with the streets first The return [Hook] [Boots Riley] I'm pitching constant fits trying to cop that grip Make me drink a fifth and can't drop that sh** Y'all don't really want to see me pop that clip Smack Bush in the face and say, "Stop that lip" Frustrated because her mother's young Buster made it, and you think that you Underrated, what you don't know is popos And CEOs wish y'all both was faded And that's undebated, ain't that a blip? Judge and the D.A. want to send me on a trip Know I got to hustle just to stack a little grip The return of the rebel with plans, straps and lists [T-K.A.S.H.] Freedom fighters in the building, go raise your fist [Boots] The return of the rebel with plans, straps and lists [T-K.A.S.H.] +Turf War Syndrome+, a +Bigger Weapon is Picked+ [Boots] The return of the rebel with plans, straps and lists [Hook]