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Yo it's your boy Rodney Darkchild Cracking it up.. With my favorite DJ, DJ Stolen You already know.. Heard you got your master's, did college up Never looked back, now that's what's happening And it's good to see you made it out the hood With a degree, a true man with passion Now you could enter the so-called "White Man's Society" and go right past them Looking in the Wall Street Journal for your face But it's always absent You know that's him eating foie and ambrosia Watch on his arm, golden, Latin Try to get his attention But he's flinching, guess my grimy clothes threw him off, so I mention We were neighbors some time ago He was kinda cold, in this restaurant Full of his kind and more He sighed, tried to look surprised, I know His side of the city where he resides, so I had to go I heard him laugh hard at some sad black jokes Hate so-called "intellectuals" No balls, he suggests we vote Letras de cancionesHe stand all proud, speaking to correct his folks He want to lecture folks 'Cause he professional and he suggest that we don't sell dope Suggest that we don't sell dope And I guess it's true, but who the fuck are you? Who are you, tryna tell me who I am? Tryna tell me who I am? Who are you, tryna tell me what I'm not? Tryna tell me what I'm not Who are you, tryna tell me who I am? Tryna box me in, tryna find who I am I'm Idi Amin, Marcus Garvey, H. Rap Brown I'm Muhammad Ali, I'm Reginald Lewis George Washington Carver, I'm Nas with incredible music Let's do it, thinking of a master plan Sipping on disaster, smoking on gangster Watching niggas argue, killing like a boss do With my hell up in Harlem, hat in hand With a girl named Pat, she more than a waitress To order a drink with She divorced a banker, and bought the bar She got an automobile, she gives an order to kill You get caught and robbed We could see your walk is off, you could lose your rhythm When you walk in the gutter for a while You easily go to soft from hard Now we all about hustlers, number runners Hoes and sharks and we all know the code of the block And you talking some gibberish, anti-nigga shit 'Cause you marched back with Rosa Parks Brother don't start, go build your Noah's Ark You could float to the end of the world And pretend what you not, but I know what you are While I roll in my car, and I'm spending my knot While my enemies plot, you ain't out of the shot Matter of fact, you're an easier target And I respect everything you accomplished But I hope I never get old and talk that nonsense So who the fuck are you? Who are you, tryna tell me who I am? Tryna tell me who I am? Who are you, tryna tell me what I'm not? Tryna tell me what I'm not Who are you, tryna tell me who I am? Tryna box me in, tryna find who I am She Queen of Nzinga Winnie Mandela, Ida B. Wells So why can't you tell? Why can't you tell? From Letras Mania