Lift my fans up to the ceiling and you’ll never touch the floor. Woah, now if Noah need a rower I’ll be there with my oar till we get back to the shore. Dad made me a soldier, GI Joe to these Cobras. Tryna FBI my Panther, CIA my Sankofa…Infiltrate my Carter, illuminate my culture. While they watching through that buckle, but I stay up on my hustle. Turn that belt back on they self, now I watch them scream for help like, “Africa need aid!” or “Black women as maids”. Uncover undercovers turn those maids to Bubba’s mothers. Take the hero out the Nino, keep it real as trouble-trouble, huh? Or maybe cartoon Martin on The Boondocks. Flip the script on chicks who think their shit smells like perfume shops. Help them girls find beauty without a magazine or movie. She Delilah with them .45s or Keisha with that Uzi. Now I know that’s contradiction, wants and needs in competition. But it’s hard to stay on point with such extremes in opposition. While we waiting on that compromise, proceed with that conscious eye.