Soap Box

[Malcolm X]
But then you had some field negroes
Who lived in huts, had nothing to lose
They wore the worst kind of clothes
They ate the worst food
And they caught hell, they felt the sting of the lash
I’m a field negro

[Ka]
I soap box for dope blocks
Speak for the young
I soap box for dope blocks
I get it jumping, you know hops
Record the story of our fall our glory
Revelations in polished speak
But our celebration our defeat
I soap box for dope blocks
Routine new scheme, head above the water
Breathe a little, squeeze a nickel, trying to rub a quarter
Reconsider, don’t need to hit it I thug your daughter
I’m night visible, she like my physical, love my aura
Running water, come and order what I manifest
Damage yes, long recordings how I manage stress
Dealing super issues, superficial can’t address
Til I’m here flushed, touched by the hand of death
On my dollar chase trying to devour cakes
Paid time, made wine from the sour grapes
Eat for a minute, say a hour grace
Understand, being broke is bland, wonder how power taste
Coke is thinner, was off to dinner with scraps
To keep younger brain off hunger pains, printed raps
Helped a little, what I whittled became art
No creations of elation, my pain dark
Trying to build sound nation but feel foundations disappear
Til poor land a plan to give off the richest air

Chorus:
I soap box for dope blocks
I soap box for dope blocks

My street run was serious, I speak from experience
Got a hold on the smart, now I reach for the ignorance
Worship writer, now my circle more tighter
Got juice already, I’m working on cider
When you tire from struggle I surface like spider
With a mat and a pillow I tame a black widow
Used to have dirty steel, now I pack Brillo
It’s on my favorite hip, nights ill days are sick
Stick ups was our staple, get your paper clipped

[Roc Marciano]
Yeah, miss the days of a different age
Lift the gauge, niggas get grazed
Twist j’s, I’m listening to the whispers in the caves
A pimp’s bottom bitch’s whisked away
Pistols spray out of the Chevrolet
Skin separate, paint the town red, decorate
Select a date with the electric tape
Your denim fresh sweats defecate
My allure, a whore’s brochure, rather cocksure
I did the cops with the cocked four
Keep the Glock up in the top drawer, rob a store
Sniff a line, call it Scott Storch
Kinda swift, that’s that Oliver Twist
Slides with the olive kicks
Lil mama, I’m just rhyming for kicks
Diamond conflict wrist, fried codfish knish, these polly tricks
Trick knowledge, trigonomics, trips to the tropics
Lyrics fit in pockets like wallets
White wine while Irish, fly iris
Pyrex over the stove pilot
Drive a ship no copilot, hold a goblet
Hollows fly like robins

Chorus