Luyện nghe bài hát Sharp Shooters

Artist Talib Kweli & Dead
Song Shooters
Typed by NLP Shit denmark Farum
[email protected]

(stic.man)
Everything is politics,I CHIN, Kweli, army, you know it

(M-1)
The white man came to Africa rifles and Bibles
the name, started changin the titles
Now instead of Chaka call me Nat Turner the burner
Freedom fighter for this revolution, a wage earner,
See I be what John Wilkes was to Lincoln, blam!
Sirhan Sirhan, peepin through the with my eyes on a Kennedy
Dead prez, politic, know enemy, keep your toast close
political power come from the barrel of it
We in a war, leave it or love it
Since they got us in a scope a P.E. logo
I watch for the po-po (woop woop) and at the dojo
Not a gun Deniro but a working class
a stand, like a panther with an M-1 Garrand
Screamin know your gun laws, self defense is a
we set it off I'm a be the first to bust

(Chorus - prez)
Yo, I'm one with my gun, I it like my first son
It protects me and makes the jakes respect me
Yo, I'm one my gun, I love it like my first son
It protects me and sure the jakes respect me

(Talib Kweli)
do you do
when the police kick in door like 'get on the floor'
Shoot you in the
cause who you are and you at's against the law
You try to protect your home with the illest arsenal
how to heal yourself and stop fuckin with them hospitals
Get with down for the cause givin it all they got
But every brother ain't a brother (word), fuck and get shot
By these kings that pack gatlings
to make a rat sing Nat King
Before they blasting (blow!)
With no accuracy, handling beef in the public
Now an innocent got a bag for a stomach
Property value plumit every time a is fired (c'mon)
People feelin betrayed so they take the street to
Cops fire and try to stop the spirit takin over the entire block
Politicians say time to march
But people is past that, ready to at whatever comin
From the master or the office, niggas is sick of runnin
Yeah, all my soldier, it up, c'mon, now
(Bust ya guns) yeah, Kweli with prez, c'mon
(Blow blow)

(stic.man)
I'm in the runs
where all niggas give a fuck about is stackin funds
The and young type that's packin automatic guns
If any static comes sparatic ring out
You get caught up, you get your fuckin brains clean out
The killers supreme, survival of the illest brain and scheme
For cream you know the game in my
I feel the for all the niggas that passed away
Tryin to get cash the fastest way we how, the old fashion way
Blastin, we actin cock tecs and tenniments
My squad flex if any pop, and put an end to it
It's like hell, this planet I'm from consist of crack sale
Assisting off the backs of black males
It's innocent, suspending in packed that benefit
White well being, while catch hell just for being
You might as well have a life of crime, ain't nothin in this life
I stick a in ya spine for mine
No time for talk, I walk when I talk
Stalkin sidewalks of course the eyes of a hawk
a quart to get away from this trife world and thought
Puffin Newports 'cause a bitch, and it's too short
My crew sport leather, gold, camoflauge, denim
Deadly in venom, totin buckets with in 'em
But Rawkus, some ill for real
Straight with nothin but a taste for kill

(Chorus) 4x

(Talib talking)
Yeah, c'mon, all my
where you at
Florida, Cincinnati you at
Africa you at, yo