Pete Rose - Nappy Roots, Khujo Goodie

Cell phone age

Tired of «kill Obama» everywhere I piss

Roll a bowl and take a toke, twenty-five on a back road

Home boy, tell them what you came for

Yup, all the G’s and hit the drink

Grab the hoes and hit the damn

Mother FUCK what a nigga think

Us country folk losing hope, ain’t seen much a change

Vote upon a vote, but I keep on seeing just the same

They say, «home of the free, the land of the brave»

I say, «home of the greed, the land of the slave»

Got me, chasing this cheese, I’m stuck in a maze

Got you like, «FUCK a degree, FUCK it, get paid.»

Got Craiglist Killers, deadfish swimmers

Go ahead, mark the sins of deadless guerillas

Black fist in the air, Olympic winners

Give you all you can handle like catfish dinners

Scene unfolds

Calm breeze, trees

Dirt roads, young bloods

G’s, street codes

Bank rolls, cheese

Pete Rose, get yours

Got this man fuck a wife, Catholic fuck a kid

Boys in the apartment will take your SHIT!!!

Watching some Indian -- look at this damn fool!

Shot a judge, but let a White bitch drink POO!!!

The things a man will do to try to make an honest living

Seems impossible when opportunity is missing

On top of that, a lot of bills and got to feed the children

Uncle Sam is full of shit, we playing Mega Millions…

My homie just got out, my cousin going back in

Three-quarters of my neighborhood, still packed in a pin

I swear the justice system’s set up, to target Black men

This ain’t no new phenomenon, been going on since back then

Back in Louv (Louisville) where the plot thickens

Homicide, looking for leads, the clock’s ticking

Shoot the block down, the cops tripping

Community motto is «stop snitching»

Pissed off, they beat a child up for shoplifting

Scene unfolds

Calm breeze, trees

Dirt roads, young bloods

G’s, street codes

Bank rolls, cheese

Pete Rose, get yours

I don’t roll blunts, and I don’t do paper

I’m in the corner to myself getting straight-vapored

I’m from the Boondocks, A.K.A Bronies Home

Po' folks still ball like a snooty hoe

Batter batter, swing…

Barry Bonds

Steroid or not, he still had to hit the ball

Dreadlocks don’t mean what they used to mean

Now they jiving Li’l Wayne, trying to kill a man

Yup, I’m on my Pete Rose, bet it on it, make a killin'

Before I lay my head down, I’m trying to get a billion

I used to do it for the love, I kind of lost the feelin'

FUCK a record deal, middle finger towards the ceilin'

I’m in the bucket, piping to Nantucket

I brown bag it then I rear cuff it -- fuck it!

Black tees, if the tees low, cut-chuck it

The old school P can crushed it

Scene unfolds

Calm breeze, trees

Dirt roads, young bloods

G’s, street codes

Bank rolls, cheese

Pete Rose, get yours