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Hereditary
by
Ransom
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Lyrics
I who always who the [?] way the pallbearer, long before the rigors of college But the most famous advice with how the streets named in our honor Martin Luther King Drive and Malcolm X Boulevard Both debunk the myth of respectability and bruise that no matter the politics All black boys are doomed to die by bullets, but how could you complain We demand justice for Breonna and George, I pray that you rest well When I was locked, I witnessed a murder right in the next cеll The COs beat that brother to dеath for smuggling nextails Killed him while he was cuffed and I bet that made all their chests well Elderberries with fresh kale, immune to your viruses that infect males In tune with the Bible and all its possessed spells No need to touch Hell, we felt the brother’s pain He was suffocated with knee, now the country’s waiting to exhale I’m even killed without being killed I demand respect and I won’t leave until I’ma bet on black like I was Stephen Hill Living in them shacks and thinking we should kill Now they say it’s cap, you thinking we should kneel How they held us back will be a secret still You don’t hear them screeching wheels You don’t hear them shots fire, firearm I keep concealed Plantation cops hired, they’re here to police the field American dream, you sleeping if you believe it’s real How you think my people feel? We ain’t dodging bullets ‘cause we’re seeking thrills I done seen some sh*t that’ll make a preacher squeal They say that we’re sick because the streets is ill Heart is cold enough to give the reaper chills Everything I speak surreal Record labels, keep your deal I just told my momma she don’t need them pills Screaming, “f**k Your Honor, we don’t need appeals” Speaking of pills, I need to speak to Bill How could you hurt your wife? He serving life, I need to see Camille Modern day warfare, they’re trying to kill us off here Them days that we all feared, they say life ain’t all fair Shoutout to Jemele Hill, the haters took her off air But now we know that Hell’s real because my people all here sh*t that I’d be forced to write, I’m in the mind of Kobe before his flight Was he nervous? Was he relaxed? Did he think to call his wife? Was it service? Did she collapse when she heard he lost his life? What a circus, media traps, just try to ignore the hype Somebody had to wipe the blood up off the cross of Christ Somebody had to tell Martin King he was forced to fight Somebody had to teach Ray to play when he lost his sight Life is quick, the words of a Malcolm X on a Harlem night (Goddamn), I’m just saying I’ll do the dirty work Never trust the word from a fiend’s mouth on the 31st You ever seen a preacher with Cadillacs in a dirty church? Think we deserve this curse? Know where you heard this first
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