Sharp Shooters - Talib Kweli, Dead Prez

The white man came to Africa with rifles and Bibles

Heard the name, started changin' the titles

Now instead of Chaka, call me Nat Turner with the burner

Freedom fighter for this revolution, fuck a wage earner

See, I be what John Wilkes Booth was to Lincoln—blam!

Sirhan Sirhan, peepin' through the curtains with my eyes on a Kennedy

Dead prez, politic, know your enemy

Keep your toast close

Because political power come from the barrel of it

We in a war, nigga—leave it or love it

Since they got us in a scope like a P.E.

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I watch for the po-po (woop woop) and train at the dojo

Not a gun Deniro but a working class hero

Takin' a stand, like a Panther with an M-1 Garand

Screamin', «Know your gun laws, self-defense is a must»

When we set it off I’mma be the first to bust

Yo, I’m one with my gun, I love it like my first son

It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me

I’m one with my gun, I love it like my first son

It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me

What do you do?

When the police kick in your door like, «Get on the floor»

Shoot you in the back ‘cause who you are and where you at’s against the law

You try to protect your home with the illest arsenal possible

Learn how to heal yourself and stop fuckin' with them hospitals

Get with brothas down for the cause, givin' it all they got

But every brother ain’t a brother (word), fuck around and get shot

By these black kings that pack Gatlings

To make a rat sing like Nat King before they start blasting (blow!)

With no accuracy, handling they beef in the public

Now an innocent child got a bag for a stomach

Property value plummet every time a shot is fired (c'mon)

People feelin' betrayed, so they take the street to riot

Cops fire shots and try to stop the spirit, takin over the entire block

Politicians say it’s time to march

But people is past that, ready to blast at whatever comin'

From the master or for office, niggas is sick of runnin'

Yeah, all my soldiers raise it up.

C’mon.

Now

(Bust ya guns) Yeah, Kweli with dead prez.

C’mon

(Blow blow)

I’m deep in the runs

Where all that niggas give a fuck about is stackin' funds

The black and young type that’s packin' automatic guns

If any static comes, sporadic shots’ll ring out

You get caught up, you get your fucking brains blown clean out

The killers reign supreme, survival of the illest brain and scheme

For cream, you know the game in my vein

I feel the pain for all the niggas that passed away

Tryna get cash the fastest way we know how, the old fashion way

Blastin', we actin like cock Tecs and tenements

My squad flex if any shit pop, and put an end to it

It’s like hell.

This planet I’m from consist of diligent crack sale

Assisting off the backs of young black males

It’s innocent, suspending in packed jails that benefit

White well-being when niggas catch hell just for being

You might as well have a life of crime

Ain’t nothin' free in this life.

I stick a nine in ya spine for mine

No time for talk ‘cause I walk when I talk

Stalkin' sidewalks, of course, with the eyes of a hawk

Crack a quart to get away from this trife world and thought

Puffin' Newports ‘cause life’s a bitch, and it’s too short

My crew sport leather, gold, camouflage, rugged denim

Deadliest venom, totin' buckets with nothin' in 'em

But ruckus, some ill muthafuckas for real

Straight hustlas with nothin' but a taste for kill

I stay one with my gun, I love it like my first son

It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me

I’m one with my gun, I love it like my first son

It protects me and makes sure the jakes respect me

Yeah, c’mon.

All my soldiers.

Brooklyn, where you at?

Florida, Cincinnati,

where you at?

Africa, where you at?

Yo…