The Last Poets - White Man's Got a God Complex

Текст песни

Sun, up down\nOn the corner, up town\nI turn around and hear the sound\nA voice is talking about who’s gonna die next\nCause the White Man’s got a God complex\nSilent niggas scream for help «Aah! Help me! Help me!»\nNigga, make your own help, shit, you need it\nI turn around and hear the sound of jukeboxes playing in bars\nPimps parked outside in big pretty Cadillac cars\nCleaner than a broke-dick dog, sitting in a big fine hog\nDressed very fine in a mohair silk vine\nBut Jim Dale’ll die next\nCause the White Man’s got a God complex\nHey brother, what’s your sport, my man?\nI got just the thing for you, only costs ten and two\nWhat you gonna do, baby?\nI got black ones, brown ones, red ones, yellow ones\nI even got a white one if you wanna buy some\nYeah, that’s right\n2−50−8, play it straight, I got it all worked out\nYou know what I’m talking about\nBeen reading my dream book\nAin’t no way in the world a kid gon' get took\nNigga, what you mean I didn’t hit? Nigga, you full of shit\nLick dice, uh, now seven\nC’mon be nice and hit eleven\nWell what do you know, it’s Little Joe\nHey my man, got twenty dollars say\nLittle Joe don’t blow\nHa, baby needs a pair of shoes\nAh, papa’s got the funky blues\nAh, mama plays the crossword in the news\nSnake eyes… Sorry, nigga, you lose\nThe line forms to the rear, lady\nAnd I don’t care if you never cash your welfare checks\nCause the White Man’s got a God complex\n«But I got ten babies, I ain’t got no man\nI ain’t got no choice but to hold out my hand\nAnd feed my young ones the best way I can»\n«Hey man, what you mean no doubles on blackjack?\nPunk, you better change that rule, 'cause I ain’t no fool»\nYou better be cool, Jim, or you’ll die next\nCause the White Man’s got a God complex\nHey, my man, uh, I wanna cop a nickel bag\nYou say all you got is skag\nWow that’s a drag, cause uh\nI don’t wanna cop no dope\nIs death next\nCause the White Man’s got a God complex\nHey baby, where’s the gig at tonight?\nWell, there’s one over at Slick’s for faggots and tricks\nThere’s one around graveyard’s side of town that’ll cost you a pound\nBut if you don’t know what I know\nYou better pack your piece, at least, or you’ll die next\nCause the White Man’s got a God complex\nMr. Stein, I done paid enough rent for this pad to be mine\nBut you just want to cheat me 'cause I ain’t your kind\nDamn, can’t you see the place is falling down?\nNo, you can’t dig it 'cause you ain’t never around\nDamn, I’m so poor\nI don’t know what in the hell I’m gonna do any more\nNot from this day to the next\nCause the White Man’s got a God complex\nI’m making guns! (I'm God! Oh, God!)\nI’m making bombs! (I'm God!)\nI’m making gas! (I'm God!)\nI’m making freak machines! (I'm God!)\nBirth control pills! (I'm God!)\nKilled Indians who discovered him! (I'm God!)\nKill the Japanese with the A-bomb! (I'm God!)\nKilled and still killing Black people! (I'm God!)\nEnslaving the earth! (I'm God!)\nDone went to the moon! (I'm God!)\nI’m God! I’m God! I’m God! I’m God!\nI’m God! I’m God! I’m God! I’m God!\nI’m God! I’m God! I’m God!\nSpelled backwards is dog!