מילים לשיר Not Yet Free – Coup

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(cut and scratched by DJ Pam the Funkstress) Verse One: Boots In this land I can't stand or sit and not get shit thrown up in my face A brotha never gets his props
I'm doin bellyflops at the department of waste And everyday I pulls a front so nobody pulls my card I got a mirror in my pocket and I practice lookin hard I'm lookin behind me beside me ahead of me
There'll be no feet makin tracks here instead of me But I can't disregard just what the news says to me I'm twenty
At any minute I could be in some shit that kills my skinny ass From motherfuckers doin the sellout strut or probably Oakland task
My relationship with OPD has been like one big diss Long arm of the law, grips my dick so tight it's hard to even piss So I forgot ain't even got a pot to do it in Up at the church they're tellin me it's because I live in sin
So I grin, but nevertheless my mind won't dwell I must be trippin cause I thought I was livin in hell Capitalism is like a spider, the web is getting tighter
I'm struggling like a fighter, just to bust loose It's like a noose asyphyxiation sets in Just when I think I'm free it seems to me the spider steps in
This web is made of money made of greed made of me Of what I have become in a parasite economy Verse Two: E Roc In the winter there's a splinter with the smell of the rain And the scent of the street, but all I smell is the pain Of a brotha who's a hustler and he's stuck to the grind Of a sista who's a hooker gotta sell her behind Desperation makes her brotha get a little more bold
So I spend my time thinking bout the ultimate gank
The circumstance gets deeper when it's damp and it's cold Can I get my Coup together pull a move on the bank? I be the picture perfect hustler for the piece of the pie
But my daddy always taught me just to reach for the sky Now my dream and aspirations go from single to hoe As I realize there's a million motherfuckers in the cold No need to be told, cause when you got a million po' people Gettin ganked, by a few that are rich and evil But it's illegal, to wonder how they livin fat (One two three) everybody get a gat Verse Three: Boots Ahhhhhh yeah!
Niggaz, thugs, dope dealers and pimps Basketball players, rap stars, and simps That's what little black boys. are made of Sluts, hoes, and press the naps around your beck Broads pop that coochie, bitches stay in check That's what little black girls. are made of But if we're made of that who made us
and what can we do to change us
The oppressor tries to tame us here's a FOOT for his anus! Well since the days when I was shittin in diapers It was evident the President didn't like us Assassination attempts I'd root for the snipers My teacher told me that I didn't know what right was Well she was wrong cause I knew what a right was And a left and an uppercut, too I had a hunch a sucker punch is what my people got That's why I was constantly red, black, and blue Outro: E Roc, Boots (E) Boots, Boots, Boots, you wanna throw some shots out? (B) Ay man I ain't done with my lyrics yet, that's not cool (E) Ay, but ain't this a freestyle? (B) Naw, this is not yet freestyle cause we not yet free
(E) Hey we gonna throw some shots out anyway (B) Awright fuckit, who y'all wanna throw some shots out to? (E) Uhh whassup with that uhh Bill Clinton and Al Gore? (B) Aight, they the new masters up in the White House and everything Let's throw some shots out (E) Yeah (B) Awright, what about Bush? He on the way out and everything but I think we need a goodbye for his ass (E) Uh (E) See
(B) Awright, what about Ross Perot and the good ol boys? (E) The who? (B) You know who they are, awright (B) Ay what about Pete Wilson? (Whassup) That Pete Wilson motherfucker (E) Yeah whassup wit him? (B) Awright (E) Got him! (B) Awright, ay, the L.A.P.D.,
The O.P.D., The Richmond P.D., Detroit P.D., ay (E) Ay fuck it, fuck it, the whole, the whole motherfuckin P.D. (B) Awright, load up (E) Yeah, here's a loaded club for yo' ass (B) Awright, cool
Ay check it out (E) I can't stand dem fools
(B) Awright awright, load it up, load it up, awright, cool (E) Yeah, got em! (B) Ay, what about these sellout motherfuckers!
(E) Who? (B) You know these sellout motherfuckers
(E) Who else?
(B) Tom Bradley (E) Who else?
(B) David Dinkins, ay, line em up (E) Yeah be true to the game (B) Ay, we outta ammo, what we gon do? (E) Let's get the fuck up outta here (B) Aight cool, we out.