Not Yet Free Lyrics by Coup, The

Not Yet Free Lyrics

    Sample -- "blacks are too fuckin broke to be republicans", ice cube
    (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-one, so i've reached my life expectancy
    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
    The circumstance gets deeper when it's damp and it's cold
    So i spend my time thinking bout the ultimate gank
    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
    *guns are cocked*
    [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
    *blam, blam blam*
    [b] awright, what about bush? he on the way out and everything
    But i think we need a goodbye for his ass
    *gun cocked*
    [e] uh-huh
    *blam*
    [e] see-ya!
    [b] awright, what about ross perot and the good ol boys?
    *guns cocked*
    [e] the who?
    [b] you know who they are, awright
    *blam blam, blam*
    [b] ay what about pete wilson? (whassup) that pete wilson motherfucker
    [e] yeah whassup wit him?
    [b] awright
    *blam*
    [e] got him!
    [b] awright, ay, the l.a.p.d., *guns cocking repeatedly throughout*
    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
    *semi-automatic*
    [b] awright, cool -- ay, what about these skinheads?
    Ay check it out
    [e] i can't stand dem fools
    [b] awright awright, load it up, load it up, awright, cool
    *semi-automatic*
    [e] yeah, got em!
    [b] ay, what about these sellout motherfuckers!
    [e] who? *gun cocks*
    [b] you know these sellout motherfuckers -- ellay duharris
    [e] who else? *gun cocks*
    [b] tom bradley
    [e] who else? *gun cocks*
    [b] david dinkins, ay, line em up
    [e] yeah be true to the game
    *blam blam blam blam*
    [b] ay, we outta ammo, what we gon do?
    [e] let's get the fuck up outta here
    [b] aight cool, we out

SEARCH LYRICS