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Still Fighting
Smif‐n‐Wessun
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🇬🇧 English · Original
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Lyrics
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"Anybody know what this place is? Fifty thousand
Men... died right here... fighting the same fight
That we're still fighting amongst ourselves... today"
Shit, you know we like
We like crabs in a bucket, out to get what we need
We hate to see the next succeed
'Cause we too bent on greed
That's why we stare at each other's pockets
Always trying to see what's in the next one's wallets
Trap ourselves in mental containment
Greed, ignorance, selfishness, you name it
Chris Rock said a joke I think we all overlook
You wanna hide your money, just put it in a book
'Cause we don't read shit consistently
How we gonna be equal in a economy?
I was taught that the five percent nation
Was to teach the other 85 wasting
Energy in the wrong direction
So Tek and Steele present Smif-n-Wessun, and
Together each achieves more
That's what the letters in the word "team" stand for
We can, but we can't keep blaming The Man
He do it 'cause we let him keep the power in hand
And us in the streets, out of graduating classes
Looking for our sisters with the ghetto asses
But some do grind right to get they mind right
Clean they money up and get out of the hood life
We give big awards to speakers, not doers
That's how they hoodwinked, bamboozled and fooled us
"Resting their souls, man...
They killed my brother with malice in my
Heart. Hatred... destroyed... my family."
Imagine being arrested or shackled against your will
Imagine the transatlantic or slavery was really real
Only you ain't gotta imagine 'cause slavery was really real
For real, when plenty died and many others were killed
I read about it in history books when I was lil'
But it never said nothing 'bout Hutton or Emmett Till
Until me and Allah begin to build
And started doing the knowledge they hide on back of the bill
'99, Illuminati revealed
As soon as the ball drop, we'd be up under they spell
Theory or not, conspiracy, I can't tell
Biggie and Pac, who got 'em shot? I can't tell
That's the type of information have your ass in a cell
Too many messages in rap, records probably won't sell
It's like writing rhymes, like writing my will
Got my freedom on the line and I fight for it still
I don't wanna be a lifer in jail
Reading revolution poems by Mustafa Khalil
Telling my lawyer that we gotta appeal
Because living behind bars like living inside Hell
My man Rell came home from doing 12
He touched down, got struck down, shotgun shell
Oh well, same story we tell
Man, I'm going back to Africa to fuck with Chappelle
"Listen. Take a lesson from the dead: If we don't come together
Right now, when there's hope around, we too will be on the streets."