| Come, I’m P-Dog, with the shit
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| That stick, now I’m fin' to get scandalous
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| Huh, and tell y’all about a brain disease
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| A act up it’s a shame disease
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| Nigga please, you still don’t act right up
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| Wait a minute, let me get my facts right
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| When I say that we all don’t act the same
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| Just a handful wanna salt the game
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| So I gotta roll deep
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| Check your grip and don’t smile, hard as concrete
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| Damn shame but it’s like that
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| Cause some got hardheads like bricks that don’t crack
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| Raised up on TV
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| Fast food and fast times, do or die G
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| Without nothin' to lose but a war
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| And here life don’t mean shit to die for
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| «Every brother ain’t a brother»
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| C’mon, yeah
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| «Every brother ain’t a brother»
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| B’le dat!
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| «Every brother ain’t a brother»
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| Sellin your soul, don’t sell your soul man, yo
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| «Every brother ain’t a brother»
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| «You got my back and I got yours»
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| The reporter looked just like me or you
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| But that don’t mean the man was cool
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| He understood when I said that it was death to integrate
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| Cause integrate means assimilate (word!)
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| But the media, hate the youth
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| Love to spread lies and distort the truth
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| They say the pen is stronger than the sword
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| But the sword’ll give any house nigga his just reward
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| So let the beat just roll on, huh
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| While the weak get told on
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| I’m P-Dog, tellin you the actual fact
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| Is just cause the skin is black don’t mean shit!
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| It ain’t about us comin up
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| To them, it’s about us gunnin up
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| It’s a shame but no strain on the brain to see
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| It’s plain, some, are sleeping with the enemy
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| C’mon! |
| Yeah, yeah!
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| Boom, another knocked out, what’s it all about
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| Gotta give a shout to the few that’s never sellin out
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| P-Dog, I never slip or slide, I never float along
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| As long as in control I know I’m born to be a martyr
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| Huh, and I’ma keep on rappin with
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| The facts, that I keep on smashin shit
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| No props cause it doesn’t really matter bout the color of the cop
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| And now I hate police so I won’t stop
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| See the punk bitch get mad, huh
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| I ain’t the one for a toe tag
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| You best believe when you see me on the street
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| I be a motherfucker ready for the static with a Glock automatic
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| So let me tell you why I hate pigs
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| The black gestapo, ultimate house nigga
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| Simply because a brother wantin to be with a plan
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| That wanna kill off and cage the black man
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| Ain’t never runnin from the U.S.A
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| Punk, land of the weak, freak, home of the slave
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| And I ain’t goin to Clarence cause the appearance is clear to me
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| Some punks, are sleepin with the enemy |