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 cant stand or sit
And not get shit thrown up in my face
A brotha never gets his props
Im 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
Im lookin behind me beside me ahead of me
Therell be no feet makin tracks here instead of me
But I cant disregard just what the news says to me
Im twenty-one, so Ive 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 its hard to even piss
So I forgot aint even got a pot to do it in
Up at the church theyre tellin me its because I live in sin
So I grin, but nevertheless my mind wont dwell
I must be trippin cause I thought I was livin in hell
Capitalism is like a spider, the web is getting tighter
Im struggling like a fighter, just to bust loose
Its like a noose asyphyxiation sets in
Just when I think Im 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 theres a splinter with the smell of the rain
And the scent of the street, but all I smell is the pain
Of a brotha whos a hustler and hes stuck to the grind
Of a sista whos a hooker gotta sell her behind
Desperation makes her brotha get a little more bold
The circumstance gets deeper when its damp and its 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 theres 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 its 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
Thats what little black boys... are made of
Sluts, hoes, and press the naps around your beck
Broads pop that coochie, bitches stay in check
Thats what little black girls... are made of
But if were made of that who made us
And what can we do to change us
The oppressor tries to tame us
Heres a foot for his anus!
Well since the days when I was shittin in diapers
It was evident the president didnt like us
Assassination attempts Id root for the snipers
My teacher told me that I didnt 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
Thats 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 aint done with my yet, thats not cool
[e] ay, but aint 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 yall 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
Lets 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, heres a loaded club for yo ass
*semi-automatic*
[b] awright, cool -- ay, what about these skinheads?
Ay check it out
[e] I cant 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] lets get the fuck up outta here
[b] aight cool, we out
The Coup is an American political hip hop group from Oakland, California. Founded in 1991 by Raymond "Boots" Riley (vocals) and Eric "E-Roc" Davis (rap), the group has undergone significant evolution over the years. After E-Roc's departure after the second album, the lineup stabilized with the addition of DJ Pam the Funkstress. The Coup is known for its politically charged songs that address themes such as racism, capitalism, and social oppression. Their musical style combines elements of funk, jazz, and rock, creating a unique and recognizable sound. Among their most representative tracks are "Me and My Girlfriend" (from the album "Kill My Landlord"), "Party Music" (from the album "Steal This Album!") and "The Bomb" (from the album "Pick a Bigger Weapon"). The historical importance of The Coup lies in their ability to combine avant-garde music with a sharp political message, influencing generations of socially engaged hip hop artists.
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