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The Reason


If hip hop’s dead I’m the words of the pastor, this ain’t the end it’s just the next chapter. She’ll be back in four days, one for each element raised from the grave, strapped w/ a thousand apostles, all hostile, spitting that gospel. Let me get a scratch for that, shake your paint cans if you graff w/ that. Where the b-boys and b-girls at? Emcees resurrect the mic we bringing hip hop back. Heard the news try to call it homicide but you and I know hip hop was gentrified. In the underground is where she reside, and every motherfucker there’s been keeping it live. I be that militant, son of an immigrant, so if they try to lock me up you know I’m innocent.

They’ll never kill the reason
We’re still breathing

I’m what makes every rapper an activist, either for change or a hooker for capitalists. I’m the seed that feeds on your love and your greed that either grows to bear fruit or spread weeds. Some rappers sold crack to escape it, the rest of them are dumb enough to think that it’s sacred. I’m the day that we finally shake it, no more getting shot for a spot on the slave ship. I’m what it means when we say that we made it, cause I’m the hour we take power and shape it. No beef in the streets, no war, no debt dc to Darfur. Get down, get live, work it out like you trying to get by. If you fight for what’s right and you know the cost, then you’re a rebel go on and brush your holsters off.

They’ll never kill the reason
We’re still breathing

I snatch a bigot’s heart just like a mayan and feed a Christian fundamentalist to a lion. I free the rebels that these devils be tryin then I level racism Mississippi to zion. I be the knife that’s releasing your life, when you fall asleep after beating your wife. I’m the glock cocked and ready to pop 50 shots at each cop that made sean bell drop. I’m that brother in sierra leone getting phantom limb pain when rap city comes on. I’m the corner that pays the coroner where hunger pangs set trip on innocence like a foreigner. I’m the source and the force of the riot, you can find me underground when the surface is quiet. I’m the heart of the movement that’s still breathing, you might kill the rebel but you’ll never kill the reason.

They’ll never kill the reason
We’re still breathing

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from The Art of Struggle, released August 6, 2008

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Son of Nun Baltimore, Maryland

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