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letra de kunta kinte (just blaze mix) - akir

akir – “kunta kinte (just blaze mix)”
[emcee(s): akir]
[producer(s): just blaze (original instrumental from [?] – “[?]”)]

[intro: akir]
uh. akir. akir, one enterprises. uh. come on. kunta kinte. yo, yo

[verse 1: akir]
notice they try to own us in several ways, and ‘til
the grave, more than physically, we’re locked in a cage. they want us
enslaved. respect money, hustle for pay
struggle for wage. turning the page, suddenly aged
christmas all lay away—working your whole day away
overtime tomorrow just to borrow so your kids can play today
hoping that you get a raise for a better place to stay
well-fleshed, then you’re home, standing up while dwindling gold
twenty-one years old and you roll for your mom
being molded, thinking adult with the moves of
a grown kid trying to focus though the images are bogus
feeling hopeless, scrambling for crumbs like roaches
trying to be a player, but nobody coaches
consuming with your credit cards, they’ll swarm you like locusts
though they show interest, you never know to invest
‘cause they know the interest’ll lock you deep in the debt
rewriting checks for the rent is garbage. praying direct deposit
drop before they stop it. it adds to your profits
ghetto economics—fuck a written promise. as long as
niggas got dollars in his pockets, i’ma keep rocking
hard to deal between that and my auto-
-mobile shit. i wish somebody told me the deal
now there’s kids with their bellies to fill. better deal with
baby moms or the government will. the plot’s ill

[hook: akir]
yo, they could care less how the fuck a nigga feel
i’m struggling with bills—the slavery game is ill
accosting, a flossing nigga behind the wheel. foul
cards in the deal—the slavery game is ill (yeah)
yanking up the ghetto youth, scramble for their meal, hand-
-cuffed against will—the slavery game is ill
hating on each other, my brother, the scene’s real. share-
-cropping in the field—the slavery game is ill

[verse 2: akir]
yo, yeah, yo
hustle to buy realty until my pockets filthy
dime dropped, dime stopped, nigga found guilty
call and come and get me. my plans of living simply
now remain history. wondering really lynched me
slow cats move quickly when it comes to hate
fighting for bones off his dog plate, he’s upstate
ask him, he says, “fuck it. we’re crabs in a bucket”
the darkest women let the lightest men fuck it
stuck in a syndrome since we rob from our home
calling women “hoes” after the cash, cars, and clothes
and what’s the odds of those who stuck fucking become foes
fulfilling family roles ‘til the family close? nope
not trying to be broke, we’re weed-smoke thugs
who bag a b-tch and handle shit to handle, hit behind the club
government projects, bricks built to echo garbage
looks like the same place we go to gain knowledge
the afterschool centers where niggas grab wallets
look like the jail cells, conditioning hidden progress
girls on the way to college getting the grease and make
dollars. when we come together, all we do is holler
far from the same pace, the same race. just to save face
niggas go get a job for minimum wage
on the subway, the elders shake their head at the way
young people still complain, though it’s better today

[hook: akir]
ayyo, they could care less how the fuck a nigga feel
i’m struggling with bills—the slavery game is ill
accosting, a flossing nigga behind the wheel. foul
cards in the deal—the slavery game is ill (yeah)
yanking up the ghetto youth, scramble for their meal, hand-
-cuffed against will—the slavery game is ill
hating on each other, my brother, the scene’s real. share-
-cropping in the field—the slavery game is ill

[verse 3: akir]
yo, yo
emcees on the radio spitting their rhymes inspire
kids to start flipping their minds, saying, “this is the time”
mimicking gimmicks ‘til they’re fitting in stride
free shows so they can get it to you live ‘til you’re feeling the vibe
good luck selling it for ten, so cut it to five
most people won’t give you the time just to come and rely
let alone go in their pocket to give you a dime
bigger shows, now they’re jocking you to get something you sign
a&rs with their contracts and dotted lines
from one block to another, being sold with
the other brothers, slave chains on the cover of a
cl-ssic. tragic, the company trashed it
wondering “where’s the cash?” when advanced debt
with no -ssets, indentured service, slave b-st-rds

[outro: akir]
yeah. uh huh (ahahahahahahahahaha). don’t get trapped, nigga

- akir

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