lyrics
Verse 1
I’m that old immigrant hunger, that sidewalk grind
That midnight sun shift, that gravedigger grind
Those soft eyes that watch guys that white chalks find
Same eyes on the rooftop where white cops is spyin’
That bi-weekly high of that government dime
That confederate flag, that southerners pride
IED in that bazaar where your brother went to die
That Herpe sored dick that pimp sent your mother to try
That hole in that rubber that brought you alive
That scar tissue on your face that box cutter styled
That drink, that crack, that lost lover’s eye
I’m that fight fought with lights off, that rapist inside you
That gangster rap track that killers drive by to
That block, that spot, where you know they’ll find you
I’m this, I’m that, I’m ‘that’s not enough’
I’m that blind man with soft eyes who sees by touch.
Verse 2
I’m that house of vice doused in booze and reefer smells
Two stories up from that wide-awake sleeper cell
That expired visa that made you hide in the shadows
That drug mule shittin’ out work from her asshole
That Mayflower dream, that Middle Passage dream
That lightening cream, rape through that silent scream
That tent city slum, that rampant malaria
That airdrop that never came, that god dam hysteria
Monk on fire that Tiananmen tank
Brown skin turbaned man you see him and you shank
That home that love built that cheating dads killed
That house, that mailbox, that foreclosure notice
That will, that strength, that composed focus
That familiar face, that rush hour commute
That run in your place grind, that baby needs food
I’m that, I’m this, but I’m mostly you.
Verse 3
Feat. Haysoos
My appeal is I’m a dreaming realist, addicted to being sober
Visibly I conceal it, and I’m a peaceful soldier
Farther as I get closer, openly close minded
Peeps on the street with no teeth, they stay grinding
So many outlaws, say they play the rules
I did it overnight, but I paid my dues
Still rep the ghetto, but I’m filthy rich
Stay sucka free, but haters can suck my dick
I’m that guy you waterboard on a foreign shore
I’m a conservative redneck who hates the poor
I’m that dirty clergy that’s actually atheist
A second-class citizen, still a patriot
I’m the scene, the gunshot, the emergency light
I’m a feminist who wants a subservient wife
Preferably white, but yet I’m afrocentric
I’m you playa playa, we stay on the benches
credits
from
Burning Tire Artisan,
track released October 11, 2011
Featuring Anand Subramanian, Willie Perdomo, and Haysoos
license
all rights reserved
