[Intro: Talib Kweli & Mos Def]
Yo D, what? Come on, yeah
What? What? Come on, yeah
[Verse 1: Talib Kweli & Both]
"Give me the fortune, keep the fame" said my man Louis, I
Agreed, know what he mean because we live the truest lie
I asked him why we follow the law of the bluest eye
He looked at me, thought about it, was like, "I'm clueless, why?"
The question was rhetorical, the answer is horrible
Our morals are out of place and got our lives full of sorrow
And so, tomorrow comin' later than usual
Waitin' on someone to pity us
While we find the beauty in the hideous
They say money's the root of all evil, but I can't tell
You know what I mean? Pesos, francs, yens, cowrie shells
Dollar bills, or is it the mind-state that's ill?
Creatin' crime rates to fill the new prisons they build
Over money and religion, there's more blood to spill
The wounds of slaves in cotton fields that never heal
What's the deal?
A lot of cats who buy records are straight broke
But my language universal, they be recitin' my quotes
While R&B singers hit bad notes, we rock the boat of thought
That my man Louis' statements just provoked
Caught up in conversations of our personal worth
Brought up through endangered species status on the planet Earth
Survival tactics means bustin' gats to prove you hard
Your firearms are too short to box with God
Without faith, all of that is illusionary
Raise my son — no vindication of manhood necessary
Yo D, what? Come on, yeah
What? What? Come on, yeah
[Verse 1: Talib Kweli & Both]
"Give me the fortune, keep the fame" said my man Louis, I
Agreed, know what he mean because we live the truest lie
I asked him why we follow the law of the bluest eye
He looked at me, thought about it, was like, "I'm clueless, why?"
The question was rhetorical, the answer is horrible
Our morals are out of place and got our lives full of sorrow
And so, tomorrow comin' later than usual
Waitin' on someone to pity us
While we find the beauty in the hideous
They say money's the root of all evil, but I can't tell
You know what I mean? Pesos, francs, yens, cowrie shells
Dollar bills, or is it the mind-state that's ill?
Creatin' crime rates to fill the new prisons they build
Over money and religion, there's more blood to spill
The wounds of slaves in cotton fields that never heal
What's the deal?
A lot of cats who buy records are straight broke
But my language universal, they be recitin' my quotes
While R&B singers hit bad notes, we rock the boat of thought
That my man Louis' statements just provoked
Caught up in conversations of our personal worth
Brought up through endangered species status on the planet Earth
Survival tactics means bustin' gats to prove you hard
Your firearms are too short to box with God
Without faith, all of that is illusionary
Raise my son — no vindication of manhood necessary
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