This is a call out to all the youth in the ghettos, suburbs,
villages, townships. To all the kids who download this song for
free. By any means. To all the kids short on loot but high on
dreams. To all the kids watching T.V., like, "Yo, I wish that
was me." And all the kids pressing rewind on Let's Get
Free. I hear you. To all the people within the sound of my
voice.
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined, the no ones, the
nobodies, the last in line.
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined, the no ones, the
nobodies, the last in line.
I didn't vote for this state of affairs. My emotional
state's got me prostrate, fearing my fears. In all reality
I'm under prepared. 'Cause I'm ready for war but
not sure if I'm ready to care. And that's why I'm
under prepared. 'Cause I'm ready to fight, but most
fights got me fighting back tears. 'Cause the truth is
really I'm scared. Not scared of the truth, but just scared
of the length you'll go to fight it. I tried to hold my
tongue, son. I tried to bite it. I'm not trying to start a
riot or incite it. 'Cause Brutus is an honorable man.
It's just coincidence that oil men would wage war on an oil
rich land. And this one goes out to my man, taking cover in the
trenches with a gun in his hand, then gets home and no one
flinches when he can't feed his fam. But Brutus is an
honorable man.
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined, the no ones, the
nobodies, the last in line.
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined, the no ones, the
nobodies, the last in line.
If you have tears prepare to shed them now. For you share the
guilt of blood spilt in accordance with the Dow Jones. Dow drops
fresh crop skull and bones. A machete in the heady: Hutu, Tutsi,
Leone. An Afghani in a shanty. Doodle dandy yank on! An Iraqi in
Gap khaki. Coca Coma come on! Be ye bishop or pawn, in the
streets or the lawn, you should know that these example could go
on and on and what sense does it make to keep your ears to the
street? As long as oils in the soil, truth is never concrete. So
we dare to represent those with the barest of feet. 'Cause
the laws to which we're loyal keep the soil deplete.
It's our job to not let history repeat.
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined, the no ones, the
nobodies, the last in line.
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined, the no ones, the
nobodies, the last in line.
So here's the plan. The ides of march are always at hand.
And when the power hungry strike, they strike the poorest of
man. And if you dare put up a fight, they'll come and fight
for your land. And they'll call it liberation or salvation.
A call to the youth! Your freedom ain't so free, it's
just loose. but the power of your voice could redirect every
truth. Shift and shape the world you want and keep your fears in
a noose. Let them dangle from a banner star spangled. I'm
willing and able. To lift my dreams up out of their cradle.
Nurse and nurture my ideals 'til they're much more
than a fable. I can be all I can be and do much more than
I'm paid to. And I won't be a slave to what
authorities say do. My desire is to live within a nation on
fire, where creative passions burn and raise the stakes ever
higher. Where no person is addicted to some twisted supplier who
promotes the sort of freedom sold to the highest buyer. We demand
a truth naturally at one with the land, not a plant that
photosynthesizes bombs on demand, or a search for any weapons we
let fall from our hands. I got beats and a plan. I'm gonna
do what I can. And what you do is question everything they say
do, every goal ideal or value they keep pushing on you. If they
ask you to believe it question whether it's true. If they
ask you to achieve, is it for them or for you. You're the
one they're asking to go carry a gun. Warfare ain't
humanitarian. You're scaring me, son. Why not fight to feed
the homeless, jobless, fight inflation?! Why not fight for our
own healthcare and our education?! And instead, invest in that
erasable lead, 'cause their twisted propaganda can't
erase all the dead. And the pile of corpses pyramid on top of
our heads. Or nevermind, said the shotgun to the head.