Song | Act III Scene 2 (Shakespeare) |
Artist | Saul Williams |
Album | Saul Williams |
作曲 : Beck, DeLaRocha, Williams | |
This is a call out to all the youth in the ghettos, suburbs, villages, townships | |
To all the kids who download this song for free | |
By any means | |
To all the kids short on loot but high on dreams | |
All the kids watching T.V. like, "Yo, I wish that was me" | |
And all the kids pressing rewind on "Let's Get Free" | |
I hear you | |
To all the people within the sound of my voice | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
(Shakespeare) | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
I didn't vote for this state of affairs | |
My emotional state got me prostrate, fearing my fears | |
In all reality I'm under prepared | |
'Cause I'm ready for war, but not sure if I'm ready to care | |
And that's why I'm under prepared | |
'Cause I'm ready to fight | |
But most fights got me fighting back tears | |
'Cause the truth is really I'm scared | |
Not scared of the truth | |
But just scared of the length you'll go to fight it | |
I tried to hold my tongue, son, | |
I tried to bite it | |
Not trying to start a riot or incite it | |
'Cause Brutus is an honorable man | |
It's just coincidence that oil men would wage war on an oil rich land | |
And this one goes out to my man | |
Taking cover in the trenches with a gun in his hand | |
Then gets home and no one flinches when he can't feed his fam | |
But Brutus is an honorable man | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
(Shakespeare) | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
If you have tears prepare to shed them now | |
For you share the guilt of blood spilt in accordance with the Dow Jones | |
Dow drops fresh crop skull and bones | |
A machete in the heady: Hutu, Tutsi, Leone | |
An Afghani in a shanty, doodle dandy yank on | |
An Iraqi in Gap khaki, Coca Coma, come on | |
Be ye bishop or pawn, in the streets or the lawn | |
You should know that these example could go on and on and | |
What sense it make to keep your ears to the street? | |
Long as oil's in the soil, truth is never concrete | |
So we dare to represent those with the barest of feet | |
'Cause the laws to which we're loyal keep the soil deplete | |
It's our job to not let history repeat | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
(Shakespeare) | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
(Shakespeare) | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
(Shakespeare) | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
So here's the plan | |
The Ides of March are always at hand | |
And when the power hungry strike | |
They strike the poorest of man | |
And if you dare put up a fight | |
They'll come and fight for your land | |
And they'll call it liberation or salvation | |
A call to the youth | |
Your freedom ain't so free, it's just loose | |
But the power of your voice can redirect any truth | |
Shift and shape the world you want and keep your fears in a noose | |
And let them dangle from a banner star spangled | |
I'm willing and able | |
To lift my dreams up out of their cradle | |
Nurse and nurture my ideals | |
'Til they're much more than a fable | |
I can be all I can be and do much more than I'm paid to | |
And I won't be a slave to | |
What authorities say do | |
My desire - to live within a nation on fire | |
Where creative passions burn and raise the stakes ever higher | |
Where no person is addicted to some twisted supplier | |
Who promotes the sort of freedom sold to the highest buyer | |
We demand a truth naturally at one with the land | |
Not a plant that photosynthesizes bombs on demand | |
Or a search for any weapon we let fall from our hands | |
I got beats and a plan | |
I'm 'a do what I can | |
And what you do is question everything they say do | |
Every goal, ideal or value they keep pushing on you | |
If they ask you to believe it, question whether it's true | |
If they ask you to achieve, is it for them or for you? | |
You're the one they're asking to go carry a gun | |
Warfare ain't humanitarian, you're scaring me, son | |
Why not fight to feed the homeless, jobless, fight inflation? | |
Why not fight for our own healthcare and our education? | |
And instead, invest in that erasable lead | |
'Cause their twisted propaganda can't erase all the dead | |
And the pile of corpses pyramid on top of our heads | |
Or never mind, said the shotgun to the head |
zuò qǔ : Beck, DeLaRocha, Williams | |
This is a call out to all the youth in the ghettos, suburbs, villages, townships | |
To all the kids who download this song for free | |
By any means | |
To all the kids short on loot but high on dreams | |
All the kids watching T. V. like, " Yo, I wish that was me" | |
And all the kids pressing rewind on " Let' s Get Free" | |
I hear you | |
To all the people within the sound of my voice | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
Shakespeare | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
I didn' t vote for this state of affairs | |
My emotional state got me prostrate, fearing my fears | |
In all reality I' m under prepared | |
' Cause I' m ready for war, but not sure if I' m ready to care | |
And that' s why I' m under prepared | |
' Cause I' m ready to fight | |
But most fights got me fighting back tears | |
' Cause the truth is really I' m scared | |
Not scared of the truth | |
But just scared of the length you' ll go to fight it | |
I tried to hold my tongue, son, | |
I tried to bite it | |
Not trying to start a riot or incite it | |
' Cause Brutus is an honorable man | |
It' s just coincidence that oil men would wage war on an oil rich land | |
And this one goes out to my man | |
Taking cover in the trenches with a gun in his hand | |
Then gets home and no one flinches when he can' t feed his fam | |
But Brutus is an honorable man | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
Shakespeare | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
If you have tears prepare to shed them now | |
For you share the guilt of blood spilt in accordance with the Dow Jones | |
Dow drops fresh crop skull and bones | |
A machete in the heady: Hutu, Tutsi, Leone | |
An Afghani in a shanty, doodle dandy yank on | |
An Iraqi in Gap khaki, Coca Coma, come on | |
Be ye bishop or pawn, in the streets or the lawn | |
You should know that these example could go on and on and | |
What sense it make to keep your ears to the street? | |
Long as oil' s in the soil, truth is never concrete | |
So we dare to represent those with the barest of feet | |
' Cause the laws to which we' re loyal keep the soil deplete | |
It' s our job to not let history repeat | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
Shakespeare | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
Shakespeare | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
Shakespeare | |
Spit for the hated, the reviled, the unrefined | |
The no ones, the nobodies, the last in line | |
So here' s the plan | |
The Ides of March are always at hand | |
And when the power hungry strike | |
They strike the poorest of man | |
And if you dare put up a fight | |
They' ll come and fight for your land | |
And they' ll call it liberation or salvation | |
A call to the youth | |
Your freedom ain' t so free, it' s just loose | |
But the power of your voice can redirect any truth | |
Shift and shape the world you want and keep your fears in a noose | |
And let them dangle from a banner star spangled | |
I' m willing and able | |
To lift my dreams up out of their cradle | |
Nurse and nurture my ideals | |
' Til they' re much more than a fable | |
I can be all I can be and do much more than I' m paid to | |
And I won' t be a slave to | |
What authorities say do | |
My desire to live within a nation on fire | |
Where creative passions burn and raise the stakes ever higher | |
Where no person is addicted to some twisted supplier | |
Who promotes the sort of freedom sold to the highest buyer | |
We demand a truth naturally at one with the land | |
Not a plant that photosynthesizes bombs on demand | |
Or a search for any weapon we let fall from our hands | |
I got beats and a plan | |
I' m ' a do what I can | |
And what you do is question everything they say do | |
Every goal, ideal or value they keep pushing on you | |
If they ask you to believe it, question whether it' s true | |
If they ask you to achieve, is it for them or for you? | |
You' re the one they' re asking to go carry a gun | |
Warfare ain' t humanitarian, you' re scaring me, son | |
Why not fight to feed the homeless, jobless, fight inflation? | |
Why not fight for our own healthcare and our education? | |
And instead, invest in that erasable lead | |
' Cause their twisted propaganda can' t erase all the dead | |
And the pile of corpses pyramid on top of our heads | |
Or never mind, said the shotgun to the head |