Song | Us |
Artist | Ice Cube |
Album | Death Certificate |
Verse one: | |
Could you tell me who released our animal instinct? | |
Got the white man sittin' there tickled pink. | |
Laughin' at us on the avenue | |
Bustin' caps at each other after havin' brew | |
We can't enjoy ourselves | |
Too busy jealous... of each other's wealth | |
Commin' up is just in me | |
But the black community is full of envy | |
Too much back-stabbin' | |
While i look up the street i see all the japs grabbin' | |
Every vacant lot in my neighborhood | |
Build a store, and sell their goods | |
To the county of sips (?) | |
You know us po niggas: nappy hair and big lips? | |
Four or five babies on your crotch | |
And you expect uncle sam to help us out? | |
We ain't nothin' but porchmonkeys | |
To the average bigot, redneck honky | |
You say comin' up is a must | |
But before we can come up, take a look at us | |
Verse two: | |
And all y'all dope-dealers... | |
Your as bad as the po-lice- cause ya kill us | |
You got rich when you started slangin' dope | |
But you ain't built us a supermarket | |
So when can spend our money with the blacks | |
Too busy buyin' gold an' caddilacs | |
That's what ya doin' with the money that ya raisin' | |
Exploitin' us like the caucasians did | |
For 400 years - i got 400 tears- for 400 peers | |
Died last year from gang-related crimes | |
That's why i got gang-related rhymes | |
But when i do a show ta kick some facts | |
Us blacks don't know how ta act | |
Sometimes i believe the hype, man | |
We're messin' up ourselves and blame the white man | |
But don't point the finger you jiggaboo | |
Take a look at yourself ya dumb nigga you | |
Pretty soon hip-hop won't be so nice | |
No ice cube, just vannilla ice | |
And yall sit and scream and cus | |
But there's no one ta blame- but us | |
Verse three: | |
Us ... will always sing the blues | |
'cause all we care about is hairstyles and tennis shoes | |
But if ya step on mine ya pushed a button | |
'cause i'll beat you down like it ain't nothin' | |
Just like a beast | |
But i'm the first nigga ta holler out {peace, black man} | |
I beat my wife and children to a pulp | |
When i get drunk and smoke dope | |
Got a bad heart condition | |
Still eat hog-mogs an' chitlin's | |
Bet my money on the dice and the horses | |
Jobless, so i'm a hope for the armed forces | |
Go to church but they tease us | |
Wit' a picture of a blue-eyed jesus | |
They used to call me negro | |
After all this time i'm still bustin up the chiffarobe | |
No respect and didn't know it | |
And i'm havin' more babies than i really can afford | |
In jail 'cause i can't pay the mother | |
Held back in life because of my color | |
Now this is just a little summary | |
Of us, but yall think it's dumb of me | |
To put a mirror to ya face, but trust | |
Nobody gives a **** about... |
Verse one: | |
Could you tell me who released our animal instinct? | |
Got the white man sittin' there tickled pink. | |
Laughin' at us on the avenue | |
Bustin' caps at each other after havin' brew | |
We can' t enjoy ourselves | |
Too busy jealous... of each other' s wealth | |
Commin' up is just in me | |
But the black community is full of envy | |
Too much backstabbin' | |
While i look up the street i see all the japs grabbin' | |
Every vacant lot in my neighborhood | |
Build a store, and sell their goods | |
To the county of sips ? | |
You know us po niggas: nappy hair and big lips? | |
Four or five babies on your crotch | |
And you expect uncle sam to help us out? | |
We ain' t nothin' but porchmonkeys | |
To the average bigot, redneck honky | |
You say comin' up is a must | |
But before we can come up, take a look at us | |
Verse two: | |
And all y' all dopedealers... | |
Your as bad as the police cause ya kill us | |
You got rich when you started slangin' dope | |
But you ain' t built us a supermarket | |
So when can spend our money with the blacks | |
Too busy buyin' gold an' caddilacs | |
That' s what ya doin' with the money that ya raisin' | |
Exploitin' us like the caucasians did | |
For 400 years i got 400 tears for 400 peers | |
Died last year from gangrelated crimes | |
That' s why i got gangrelated rhymes | |
But when i do a show ta kick some facts | |
Us blacks don' t know how ta act | |
Sometimes i believe the hype, man | |
We' re messin' up ourselves and blame the white man | |
But don' t point the finger you jiggaboo | |
Take a look at yourself ya dumb nigga you | |
Pretty soon hiphop won' t be so nice | |
No ice cube, just vannilla ice | |
And yall sit and scream and cus | |
But there' s no one ta blame but us | |
Verse three: | |
Us ... will always sing the blues | |
' cause all we care about is hairstyles and tennis shoes | |
But if ya step on mine ya pushed a button | |
' cause i' ll beat you down like it ain' t nothin' | |
Just like a beast | |
But i' m the first nigga ta holler out peace, black man | |
I beat my wife and children to a pulp | |
When i get drunk and smoke dope | |
Got a bad heart condition | |
Still eat hogmogs an' chitlin' s | |
Bet my money on the dice and the horses | |
Jobless, so i' m a hope for the armed forces | |
Go to church but they tease us | |
Wit' a picture of a blueeyed jesus | |
They used to call me negro | |
After all this time i' m still bustin up the chiffarobe | |
No respect and didn' t know it | |
And i' m havin' more babies than i really can afford | |
In jail ' cause i can' t pay the mother | |
Held back in life because of my color | |
Now this is just a little summary | |
Of us, but yall think it' s dumb of me | |
To put a mirror to ya face, but trust | |
Nobody gives a about... |