A story to tell
I see cooked crack sold- giving white to black men
He’s got black friends- so he’s not a racist then
Spitting out truths of men in leather boots spreading
Disease in roots- black, white & brown- it’s deadening
The amount of population under influence of the drugs
Fluent in languages- bugged up listening to a grudge
That Mr. Joe Public has with the feds- dread instead
of a free place- next day Joe is dead- shot by a dread
undercover cop- never ever found again in the end
Round then if you spoke ill will- it’s shots to the body
So imagine the penalty of Shakur shouting Kill illuminati
Never found the crook, crooked cops let off the hook
Biggie was shot- hook line & sinker- never got up-shook
Fans- a populace in active apartheid- don’t- speak out
Keeping it all quite- they accepted the ridiculing shouts
Now it’s changed though- black bought out tracks
Self stereotype- eating chicken on the side a soda + snacks
They let the noodle soup let them coupe in new attires
Hired against a culture- commercially molded Liars
Due to fires from tracks- you’ve got white blacks amassed
Tight jeans sell well with the young beings attending class
A prep school- with its token black- man in hand a hope
To somehow find a new dealer selling cheap dope
A kid grabs him- he hid- in his corner- a corner shop
Brown skinned- false accent- he’s sells coke, weed- the lot
The black kids wants to be black so he purchases the leafs
Never rolled a blunt- blunt inexperience- he’s at unease
Getting stares from whites- they find him shady in light
Of events last night- where he was seen shuffling in fright
But to them he was another black kid dealing doses
To them he was another of the black men at the boulevard
So when a fight broke out- he was the first to be accused
first to be abused by bullies- neo Nazi wannabe fools
So in the end he drops out- tired of being eyeballed
A win- another victim- he was stereotypically blackballed
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