Información de la canción En esta página puedes encontrar la letra de la canción Fire in the Booth, Pt..1, artista - Akala. canción del álbum 10 Years of Akala, en el genero Рэп и хип-хоп
Fecha de emisión: 22.09.2016
Restricciones de edad: 18+
Etiqueta de registro: Illa State
Fire in the Booth, Pt..1 |
Yes, I grew up on the dole in a single parent family |
Been through a little bit of tragedy |
Yes I was around drugs and violence before the day that I started secondary |
And that’s part of it not half of it, get the picture, the rest ain’t necessary |
Growing up, got a little caught up, but that ain’t even half of my life |
Also given the knowledge of self |
That is all we actually need to survive |
If you saw me aged nine, reading Malcolm just fine |
Teachers still treated me stupid |
Students that couldn’t speak English, they put me in groups with |
And the irony is some of the first man to give me schooling |
You would call gangsters but I already explained, we know what the truth is |
They used to say ‘Don't be like me' |
Yeah I got a name and dough on the street |
Night time comes, I can’t sleep |
And that’s the part that rappers don’t speak |
We don’t hit the road cos we are thugs |
Don’t come out the womb, wanting to sell drugs |
If we got the right guidance and love |
Would we fight people just like us? |
How could I knock the hustle to get by? |
How do you think I ate as a child? |
Judge no one, done many things wrong |
I just don’t boast about it songs |
But listen to my older bars |
I was just as confused as you probably are |
But you grow and you learn, travel and fuck up |
One too many man you know get cut up |
One too many man that could’ve been doctors |
End up spending their whole life boxed up |
You learn, if you study |
Its all set out just to make them money |
No cover, it’s all about getting poor people to fight with one another |
So its logical that us killing our brothers, dissing our mothers |
Is right in line with the dominant philosophy of our time |
But time is a cycle, not a line |
Comes back around you regain your mind |
You be ready for the energy I channel in my rhymes |
Remedy the pedigree, the jeopardy of mine |
When the world’s this fucked up, lethargy’s a crime |
We can all fight with our brothers over crumbs |
Far harder to fight the one who makes guns |
We can all talk shit and get two dollars |
Far harder to be the one who seeks knowledge |
If we understood economics |
We’d know money’s nothin' |
Think nothing of it |
Money is a means to get wealth, not the wealth itself |
Don’t get confused, I’m far from broke |
All that you see me do I own |
But I won’t hang what I make around my neck |
I know from where that the diamonds came |
But I do quite literally own a library |
That definitely costs more than your chain |
And businesses, and properties |
Far from starvin', I eat quite properly |
And I don’t care, just said it for the kids |
Who need to know that you’re not broke to listen |
Don’t know an asset from a liability |
They’ve never been shown or told the difference |
So they don’t change situations |
Richest man in Britain is Asian |
That’s significant, not coincidence |
Asian people build businesses |
Not by flossin', going out shoppin' |
Giving out their culture for everyone’s profit |
Who run’s Bollywood? Indian people |
Who owns our shit? |
So we shake our arse and dance |
As if racism just upped and vanished |
But has it? No its right on course |
You’re beaten so bad, you’re trained to ignore |
Let me not just make sweeping statements |
Gimme a second, I’ll explain it |
For small amounts of drug possession there’s more black people in jail in |
America than there is for rape and armed robbery and murder all put together |
You can say they’re just locking up thugs |
Imagine if they locked up every middle class kid that had ever held drugs |
Oh that’s right, that’d be your kids! |
Bigger than that what is going on with this |
Prison in America’s a private business |
They get paid fifty-k per year per inmate by the State, just wait… |
Also legally are allowed to use their prison inmates as slaves |
Cheap slave labour, big corporations |
They come out of jail, can’t get a job |
So when we celebrate going to jail |
We are literally celebrating enslavement |
Add to that, that the hood that you’re livin' |
Engineered social condition that breeds crime by design |
Where do you think you get your nine? |
You can say that they’re just black |
But I like to deal with facts |
In the 1920s you would’ve found in America |
Black Towns |
Prospering centres of economics and education to make you proud |
But some people couldn’t bear that the former slaves would not just lie down |
So the KKK and other hate groups burnt those towns to the ground |
Killin hundreds |
If it ain’t understood |
You think you were always livin' in the hood? |
Shit it’s only been sixty years |
Since they hung blacks and burned em' |
And that was so cool |
They were your pastors' picnic baskets |
Even gave kids the day off school |
To go see a lynching; have a picnic |
It’s fun to watch the little monkeys die |
Then people act a little dysfunctional |
You wanna pretend that you don’t know why |
If your colour means you can be killed |
And you’re powerless to get justice about it |
Is it difficult to figure out how you would then end up feelin' about it? |
And that ain’t excuses |
Just dealing with the roots of abuses that make a reality |
Where a generation of young men speak of ourselves as dirt casually |
That’s America |
This Britain |
Some things are similar |
Some different |
In this country the first enslaved were the working class |
What’s changed? |
Worst jobs, worst conditions |
Worst taxed, look where you’re livin' |
You go to the pub, Friday night |
You will fight with a guy, don’t know what for |
But won’t fight with a guy, suit and a tie |
Who sends your kids to die in a war |
They don’t send the kids of the rich or politicians |
It’s your kids, the poor British |
That they send to go die in a foreign land |
For these wars you don’t understand |
Yeah they say that you’re British |
And that lovely patriotism they feed ya' |
But in reality, you have more in common with immigrants |
Than with your leaders |
I know, both side of my family |
Black and white are fed ghetto mentality |
Reality in this system |
Poor people are dirt regardless of shade |
But with that said |
Let’s not pretend that everything is the same |
When our grandparents came here to Britain |
If you had a criminal record you couldn’t get in |
Yet that ain’t protect them from all the stupid, stupid abuses they would be |
livin' |
Kicked in the teeth, stabbed in the street |
Many times fired bombed our houses |
Put faeces through our letterbox |
And of course the cops did so much about it |
Daily, up to the eighties |
People spittin' into my pram cos' I was a coon baby |
But of course, that has had no effect on why today we are crazy |
And none of this was for any good reason |
They were just dark and breathing |
To ease the guilt now for all of this treatment |
Constant stereotypes are needed |
So if I celebrate how big that my dick is, bricks that I’m flippin' |
Clips that I’m stickin', chicks that I’m hittin', I’m playing my position |
But if I teach a kid to be a mathematician, messin' with the schism |
How they gonna fill a prison when materialism is nothing but a religion? |
What do you think we got now in Britain? |
Just like America, private prisons |
Prisons for profit! |
That mean when your kids go jail people make money off it |
So keep environments that breed crime |
Build more jails at the same time |
Market badness to the kids in the rhymes |
As long as rich kids ain’t dying, it’s fine! |
Get em' to the point where some are so lost |
They actually believe that if they don’t celebrate killin' themselves off |
That it’s because they’re soft |
Was Malcolm soft? Was Marley soft? |
Tell me was Marcus Garvey soft? |
Well? Was Mohammed Ali soft? Nah, Nah I think not! |
But they want us to think that the road is cool |
Being on road is all we can do |
We don’t control the wholesale productions |
Who benefits from us movin' the food? |
Or thinking there’s no way out of road life |
But Malcolm X used to hustle out on the roadside |
When Marcus Garvey organised more than six million people |
With no Facebook or Twitter |
Why is this something you cannot equal? |
Shit! |
One of my homeboys did a ten straight in the box in yard |
Now, what’s he doing? Passin' his doctorate |
Don’t tell me that it’s too hard! |
Who trained you to believe that you’re inferior? |
Sungbo Eredo in Nigeria are the remains of an ancient moat |
Dug one-thousand years ago |
Twenty metres wide, seventy down |
Round the remains of an ancient town |
That’s four-hundred square miles around |
Four-hundred square miles around |
Please, please don’t believe me |
It was a documentary on BBC |
But we ain’t studyin' history |
Too busy watching MTV |
And MTV said wear platinum |
Now everybody wanna go and wear platinum |
And MTV said pop magnums |
Now everybody wanna go and pop magnums |
If MTV said drink prune juice |
You would start hearing that in tunes soon |
«Hey! Today I wore my Cartier |
Is it now more important what I got to say?» |
Oh and I drive a Mercedes by the way |
So everybody listen to what I got to say |
Huh, does that make you all happy? |
Ah but shit my head’s still nappy |
Think for myself, still some mad at me |
But on the mic ain’t not one bad as me |
All of this here’s good for the rhymes |
Put us in the same place at the same time |
And it’s clear to everybody that I’m out of my mind |
Some of these guys are runnin' out of their rhymes |
Clear to everybody that has got ears |
I’m the guy that they just might fear |
They wanna get near but they can’t have a peer |
Ah dear I’m hard liquor you’re just like beer |
Front on the kid for another five years |
Come to my shows and some cry tears |
It mean that much to em', it’s a movement! |
I don’t speak for myself but a unit |
Black, white, man, woman, anyone that respects truth we put in |
Dudes are like no dinner with just puddin' |
Yeah you’re sweet but no substance puddin' |
You could never ever be with a level on |
Our songs get outplayed out there in Lebanon |
We speak for the people properly |
Not for the old fat guys in offices |
And the girls love him, it ain’t fair |
He can’t even be bothered to comb his hair |
Anyway that’s enough kissin' my own arse |
Back to the more important task of being so shower |
I got half the hood screaming «knowledge is power» |
And I ain’t saying that will change rap |
But I do know this for a fact |
Right now there’s a youte on your block |
With his hand on his cock and his face screwed up |
Swear he don’t care, don’t give a fuck |
That he won’t let nobody call his bluff |
But the words go in |
Open up your chakra |
Because once that’s happened there’s no going back |
Once you start to see what is really happening |
Who the enemy you should be attackin' is |
So read, read, read! |
Stuck on the block, read, read! |
Sittin' in the box, read, read! |
Don’t let them say what you can achieve |
'Cause when people are enslaved |
One of the first things they do is stop them reading |
'Cause it is well understood that intelligent people will take their freedom |
'Cause if we knew our power we would understand that we can’t be held down |
If we knew our power, we would not elevate not one of these clowns |
If we knew our power, we wouldn’t get arrogant when we get two pennies |
If we knew our power, we would see what everybody sees, that we’re rich already! |
But never mind MCs go run for your mummy |
I’m hungry, I run for my tummy |
That’s enough, back to worshipping money |
I’m off, back to the study! |