Who Are You (ft. David Ranier)

Hudson

Heard you got your master's
Did college up, never looked back, now that's what's happening
And it's good to see you made it out the hood
With a degree, a true man with passion
Now you could enter the so-called "White Man's Society"
And go right past 'em
Lookin' in the Wall Street Journal for your face
But it's always absent
There he go, that's him
Eating flan and ambrosia, watch on his arm, golden, laughin'
Try to get his attention, but he's flinchin'
Guess my grimy clothes threw him off, so I mention
We were neighbors some time ago
He was kinda cold, in this restaurant, full of his kind and more
He sighed, tried to look surprised, I know
This side of the city where he resides, so
I had to go, I heard him laugh hard at some sad black jokes
Hate so-called "intellectuals"
No balls, he suggests we vote
He stand all proud, speaking to correct his folks
He want to lecture folks 'cause he professional
And he suggest that we don't sell dope
And I guess it's true, but who the fuck are you?

Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?
Tryna tell me who I am?
Who are you, tryna tell me what I'm not?
Tryna tell me what I'm not
Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?
Tryna box me in, tryna find who I am

I'm Idi Amin, I'm Marcus Garvey
H. Rap Brown, I'm Muhammad Ali
I'm Reginald Lewis, George Washington Carver
I'm Nas with incredible music, let's do it
Thinkin' of a master plan
Sippin' on disaster, smokin' on gangster
Watching niggas argue, chillin' on my bar-stool
With my Hell Up in Harlem hat in hand
With a girl named Pat
She more than a waitress to order your drink with
She divorced a banker and bought the bar
She got an automobile, she give an order to kill
You get caught and robbed, we could see your walk is off
You could lose your rhythm when you outta the gutter for a while
You easily go to soft from hard
Now we all about hustlers, number runners, hoes and sharks
And we all know the code of the block
And you talking some gibberish, anti-nigga shit
'Cause you marched back with Rosa Parks?
Brother, don't start, go build your Noah's Ark
You could float to the end of the world, and pretend what you not
But I know what you are
While I roll in my car, and I'm spending my knot
While my enemies plot, you ain't out of the shot
Matter of fact, you're an easier target
And I respect everything you accomplished
But I hope I never get old and talk that nonsense
So who the fuck are you?

Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?
Tryna tell me who I am?
Who are you, tryna tell me what I'm not?
Tryna tell me what I'm not
Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?
Tryna box me in, tryna find who I am

She Queen of Nzinga
Winnie Mandela, Ida B. Wells
Why can't you tell?
Why can't you tell?