Oh Bitch You Weary by MK Asante Lyrics
[Verse 1: MK Asante]
I’m outside with the goons and goblins
Drums beating the night, hoodies bobbin
Nobody Givens, just Robin
And they only ask you once if there’s a problem?
And they looking for it
And the cops is looking for the nigga looking for it
Tryna book him for it
Judge cook him for it
But he don’t care, though
Whole life on the run, he ain’t scare crow
He just tryna hustle commissary money
So when he get knocked he won’t be bummy
Lived a lot a days, man, none of ‘em sunny
Life’s a bitch and be kicking his ass—Chun-Li
No I.D. he barely a citizen
9th ward called him refugee to get rid of him
But they ain’t killin him, just made him stronger
Faith in God cause he shoulda been a goner
On his Samson jawn, hair longer
Brown braids looking like blunts of ganja
Eyes wobbly, cookie monster
Gun and bandana lookin like contra
He—Down for whatever bound to some chetta
Stomach hurtin but it’s tougher than some buffalo leather
And he gon get it, any means necessary
Malcolm X gone, 21st, February
He get caught he gone til neveruary
He get caught he gone to the cemetary
He got caught, this the obituary
[Verse 2: Amiri Baraka]
Let us hold him in our hearts and minds. Let us make him part of our invincible black souls, the intelligence of our transcendence. Let our black hearts grow big world-absorbing eyes like his, never closed. Let us one day be able to celebrate him like he must be celebrated if we are ever to be truly self-determining. For Jimmy was God's black revolutionary mouth. If there is a God, and revolution His righteous natural expression
I’m outside with the goons and goblins
Drums beating the night, hoodies bobbin
Nobody Givens, just Robin
And they only ask you once if there’s a problem?
And they looking for it
And the cops is looking for the nigga looking for it
Tryna book him for it
Judge cook him for it
But he don’t care, though
Whole life on the run, he ain’t scare crow
He just tryna hustle commissary money
So when he get knocked he won’t be bummy
Lived a lot a days, man, none of ‘em sunny
Life’s a bitch and be kicking his ass—Chun-Li
No I.D. he barely a citizen
9th ward called him refugee to get rid of him
But they ain’t killin him, just made him stronger
Faith in God cause he shoulda been a goner
On his Samson jawn, hair longer
Brown braids looking like blunts of ganja
Eyes wobbly, cookie monster
Gun and bandana lookin like contra
He—Down for whatever bound to some chetta
Stomach hurtin but it’s tougher than some buffalo leather
And he gon get it, any means necessary
Malcolm X gone, 21st, February
He get caught he gone til neveruary
He get caught he gone to the cemetary
He got caught, this the obituary
[Verse 2: Amiri Baraka]
Let us hold him in our hearts and minds. Let us make him part of our invincible black souls, the intelligence of our transcendence. Let our black hearts grow big world-absorbing eyes like his, never closed. Let us one day be able to celebrate him like he must be celebrated if we are ever to be truly self-determining. For Jimmy was God's black revolutionary mouth. If there is a God, and revolution His righteous natural expression