Me and Jesus The Pimp In A '79 Granada Last Night

[Boots]
Well, he was smilin' like a vulture as he rolled up the horticulture
Ignited it, and said, "I hope the vapors don't insult ya"
What I replied denied, but he mixin weed and hop
His head was noddin' up and down like he agreed a lot
Bored, said, "We need a plot," I comply, "Let's leave the spot"
Hopped in the Granada, he's impressed by the beat I got
His name is "hay-zoos" but his pimp name is "gee-zus"
Slapped a hoe to pieces with his plastic prosthesis
"Nigga don't you know that I'm your daddy?" said he
This is true, plus he schooled me for my mackin' degree
"Never plea, try not to flee, make niggaz pee when you stick around"
This man my momma had found taught me to put it down
I press the gas to the ground to show that I'm a hound
Makin' sho' that get rubber sound is heard throughout the town
Thirty years ago, Jesus could pull a hoe quick
But now he 50 and his belly hangs lower than his dick
Philosophy that he spit stuck in my memory chips
And now he puttin' in a disk of Gladys Knight and the Pips
Then that shit starts to skip, he said, "Somebody musta scratch it"
Put the 40 to his lips and poured the contents down the hatchet
Well since my adolescense, cause of his pimp lessons
smack my woman in the dental just for askin' silly questions
Relationship reduction to either rock the box or suction
Ain't got no close potnahs, socially I cain't function
From the pen he would scribe, on how to survive:
"Don't be Microsoft, be Macintosh with a Hard Drive"
Used to tell me all the time to keep a bitch broke
Did I mention that my momma was his number one hoe?
Clunked the 40 on the flo' and placed his palm on the dash
and wheezed out, "C'mon man, make this motherfucker mash!"
Ain't gon' mash too fast, cause my tags ain't right
Me and Jesus the Pimp in a '79 Granada last night

Chorus: *sung* (2X)

Oakland do you wanna ride?
I can't hear you! Oakland do you wanna ride tonight?

[Boots]
City lights from far way can makeyou drop yo' jaw
Sparklin' like sequins on a transvestite at Mardi Gras
There's beauty in the cracks of the cement
When I was five I hopped over them wherever we went to prevent whatever it was that could break my momma's back
Little did I know that it would roll up in a Cadillac
And matta-fact, she couldn't see him like a cataract
And on the track, she went from beautiful to battleaxe
And back at home, she would cry into her pillow
Vomit in the commode, I was six years old
I would crawl onto her lap and we would hug and hold
She asked me what I thought of Jesus when he broke off some bread
I said, "He missin' a arm, and he seem like a pee-pee head"
She said, "Don't cuss", and my teeth to go brush
And get ready for bed, and the toilet to flush
With tears in my momma's eyes, I was her everything
Before she went out on the stroll
She'd tuck me into bed and sing
Back to top / Back to videos

Dig It

Presto, read the Communist Manifesto
Guerillas in the Mist, a Guevara named Ernesto, so
(E-Roc: What a brother with a afro know?)
Yo, go and flow for the mack and be the hoe
so grow cause the lynchin brothers might get hung
Better rip through em from the tip of my mouth/Mao, say/Tse-Tung/tongue
Deficit (money spent) catch the glint
(E-Roc: of my nine as they cut welfare twenty-five percent)
And I dissent, as I clench and raise my fist
(We did away with, that) so you could get with this
Here's a twist cause we'll overthrow like Kwame N'Krumah
Spread around the wealth as if it were a, vicious rumor
Pam, cuts a record like a surgeon cuts a tumor from a brain
(E-Roc: We're all cooped up so feel the pain)
from four hundred years of exploitation
Anesthesia provided by your local TV station
Patience is not a virtue (I ain't waitin)
Turn this shit over like Bush did a boatload of Haitians

*DJ Pam cuts and scratches "Dig It!"*

How now Brown Cow I'm down with the Mau Mau
Clown downtown tried to put us in the dog pound
like H. Rap Brown with the situation
(Won't get no callouses) cause I'm spittin dialectical analysis
So how is this, we never had no Funk
until you found out that I turned to revolutionary hunk
(Chump!) Bump you over like dominoes, rat
(E-Roc: So free Geronimo Gi Jaga Pratt!)
Lyrics hear it fear it can't get near it
got a sample didn't clear it
Point Blank says, "Fuck five-oh!" That's the spirit
Cheer it, spat out, the fat that I consumed
Knew that I was doomed since my date of birth
to be the wretched of the earth, never had a Dream that was American
(The golden ?leg to chair again?) Despair again
(But that ain't nuthin new) Told the streets were paved with gold
Whoever paved that shit got minimum wage too!

*DJ Pam cuts and scratches "Dig It!"*

"Do you understand, the metaphoric phrase?" (repeat 3X)
"Do you understand, do you understand..."

(E-Roc: Gunned us, stunned us) exploited and they hung us
I'd like to take a moment to say, "Fuck Columbus!"
(Millions off my back) the black on black crisis is a myth
The crack that did this to us (was the one from the whip)
The record skip, the record skip, the record ship *SCRATCH*
The record skips, cause my voice is kinda scratchy
from yelling, "Oh shit!" when five-oh comes to harass me
They never pass me, no one to go and tail bro
(E-Roc: Trying to kill the movement with the new CoIntelPro)
Leaders they killed, if I said it, it would threaten em
They only see my back because I'm three steps ahead of em
We're not fallin in the slot you slated
(E-Roc: We realize that our power's nickel-plated)
Masses move as well as asses do, class is through
Our time is over, past it's due
(And you still wanna know) the origin of the flow
OAKLAND CALIFORNIA NINE-FOUR-SIX-ONE-OH

*DJ Pam cuts "Dig It!"

(Yeah, The Coup, comin at you in ninety-three!)
Yeah, and we out y'all...

"Do you understand, the metaphoric phrase?" (repeat 3X)
"Do you understand, do you understand..."
Back to top / Back to videos

Not Yet Free

"Blacks are too fuckin broke to be republicans" --Ice Cube
(cut and scratched by DJ Pam the Funkstress)

Verse One: Boots

In this land I can't stand or sit
and not get shit thrown up in my face
A brotha never gets his props
I'm doin bellyflops at the department of waste
And everyday I pulls a front so nobody pulls my card
I got a mirror in my pocket and I practice lookin hard
I'm lookin behind me beside me ahead of me
There'll be no feet makin tracks here instead of me
But I can't disregard just what the news says to me
I'm twenty-one, so I've reached my life expectancy
At any minute I could be in some shit that kills my skinny ass From motherfuckers doin the sellout strut or probably Oakland task My relationship with OPD has been like one big diss Long arm of the law, grips my dick so tight it's hard to even piss So I forgot ain't even got a pot to do it in
Up at the church they're tellin me it's because I live in sin
So I grin, but nevertheless my mind won't dwell
I must be trippin cause I thought I was livin in hell
Capitalism is like a spider, the web is getting tighter
I'm struggling like a fighter, just to bust loose
It's like a noose asyphyxiation sets in
Just when I think I'm free it seems to me the spider steps in This web is made of money made of greed made of me
Of what I have become in a parasite economy

Verse Two: E Roc

In the winter there's a splinter with the smell of the rain
And the scent of the street, but all I smell is the pain
Of a brotha who's a hustler and he's stuck to the grind
Of a sista who's a hooker gotta sell her behind
Desperation makes her brotha get a little more bold
The circumstance gets deeper when it's damp and it's cold
So I spend my time thinking bout the ultimate gank
Can I get my Coup together pull a move on the bank?
I be the picture perfect hustler for the piece of the pie
But my daddy always taught me just to reach for the sky
Now my dream and aspirations go from single to hoe
As I realize there's a million motherfuckers in the cold
No need to be told, cause when you got a million po' people Gettin ganked, by a few that are rich and evil
But it's illegal, to wonder how they livin fat
(One two three) everybody get a gat

Verse Three: Boots

Ahhhhhh yeah!
Niggaz, thugs, dope dealers and pimps
Basketball players, rap stars, and simps
That's what little black boys... are made of
Sluts, hoes, and press the naps around your beck
Broads pop that coochie, bitches stay in check
That's what little black girls... are made of
But if we're made of that who made us
and what can we do to change us
The oppressor tries to tame us
here's a FOOT for his anus!
Well since the days when I was shittin in diapers
It was evident the President didn't like us
Assassination attempts I'd root for the snipers
My teacher told me that I didn't know what right was
Well she was wrong cause I knew what a right was
And a left and an uppercut, too
I had a hunch a sucker punch is what my people got
That's why I was constantly red, black, and blue

Outro: E Roc, Boots

[E] Boots, Boots, Boots, you wanna throw some shots out?
[B] Ay man I ain't done with my lyrics yet, that's not cool
[E] Ay, but ain't this a freestyle?
[B] Naw, this is not yet freestyle cause we not yet free
Back to top / Back to videos