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(You can march like the white man you can talk like him, you can - you can learn his songs you can - you can even wear his suits but you ain't never gon' be nothin to him but a ugly-ass chimp) (Blackman) (Don't sell out) [ VERSE 1: Hardhead ] Put yourself in the shoes of my color In a position of power we're known to turn on one another We're seen wherever 'help wanted' signs are hung Slave driven to get a white man's job done We're likely to take jobs at the welfare Behind the desk lookin down on the poor from a leather chair Nose turned up and givin orders To someone's young black teenage daughter Starin her down like she's a tramp At the same time explainin why you cut off her food stamps A black race that needs therapy Cause the workplace is now a modern day slavery Tryin to gain brownie points and respect Frontin when the government's also signin your check When the boss says "fetch" you bring It's like, "Give it to Mikey, he'll eat anything" With the idiotic grin of a moron Letras de cancionesDissin your color over a book of damn coupons Get a grip is my personal gesture These type of blacks should be buried like a treasure So many blacks you'll burn till the day you retire You're just another nigga for hire (Don't sell out) (Don't sell out) (Don't sell out) (Blackman) (Don't sell out) [VERSE 2: Hardhead] Starin out the window as I gaze in wonder How these negro cops are takin their own kind under A gun, a badge and a dark color uniform Makes me wonder what kinda dope cops be on Friday night and the corner's buckwild Two cops pull up wearing a cemetary smile Before questioning the oreo's makin a scene Got a brother's balls split searchin my jeans Only to find a hard dick And for that I'm publicly pistol-whipped Mr. Ritz Cracker enjoys the scenery I'm handcuffed and put in the backseat I'm out in a heartbeat, right back on the street A brother of six but number six is a black sheep What the officer did was totally apparent A color of black but that bullshit was transparent These types are not hard to come by or get Ass-kissers to protect a paycheck Gomer Pyle stays behind the steering wheel Leavin homicides to him, rapes and drug deals 9 times out of 10 their own color they're killin Pullin his piece on seven year old children Gimme a break, these types need coffins It sounds comical but I grew up around orphans Leftover-ass lawmen, their time to expire These niggas for hire (Don't sell out) (Don't sell out) (Don't sell out) (Blackman) (Don't sell out) [VERSE 3: Hardhead] Girlfriend was cute and fine But one thing: the bitch was color blind She said she went to Harvard I met her at a time when you could say I was starvin But I had a talent in rappin Seemed like overnight shit started happenin She took me home to meet her folks Right away pops quoted corny shit Shakespeare wrote Mom sits down to the table And gives me a autographed picture of Clark Gable? They reminded me of my last name Considered themselves upperclassmen but a bunch of lames Father and daughter eatin caviar When I'm thinkin of makin the daugher my personal porn star I'm sure her parents knew I wanted to knock her This Mary Lou Retton type of a girl who was too proper To be my complexion She was, but never felt a real nigga's erection We had chemistry for the formula I was fixin When we got togeher I felt like I was race-mixin So I ended the affair not with a bang but a nut I liked everything about her till her mouth opened up I cut her off to avoid slappin her A perfect couple but one color was out of character What's these type of people's desire Another sample of a nigga for hire (Don't sell out) (Don't sell out) (Don't sell out) (Blackman) (Don't sell out) (Nigga, you ain't nothin but the white man's dog) (Don't sell out) (Blackman) (Don't sell out) (Nigga, you ain't nothin but the white man's dog) (Don't sell out) (Blackman) (Don't sell out) From Letras Mania