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They been playin' a different game these days man |
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It's the long game, pay attention |
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When they come for you |
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They won't have their guns |
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Confidently etched out from the cold of their holsters |
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They know now that this world is photoshop ready |
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To digitally document their death squad tactics |
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That their antics |
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Are now archived, videoclipped, and facebook status |
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Set to go viral even though our protests and proof are never enough fire |
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To burn their house to ashes |
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Our death, our death sometimes pins medals on their chests |
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And allows them to retire with sizable paycheck |
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But nonetheless, we fight back, the best we can |
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So understand now, that when they come for you |
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They startin' at the foundation, at your doorstep |
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They will be dressed as developer or realtor or hipster |
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Your best 90's hip hop playing |
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From their boombox on your block |
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Dressed in your latest fashion |
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Appropriately, appropriating your culture till they fit in |
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Till they move in |
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But then the police traffic rises |
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And the crime seems to drop |
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Property tax rises around big momma's old house so much |
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That her fixed income ain't enough income and now she forced to move out |
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Of the house she lived in for the last 30 years |
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And raised two generations of kids, but it is what it is, ain't it |
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The neighborhood got more Volvos and less Chevy's |
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Candy coated painted because now |
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Well now your street is so charming and alarming, ain't it |
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The sight of your neighbors being shipped out |
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Handed hollow vouchers to move to a place unfamiliar |
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This, this be the new slave ship |
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Go ahead, go ahead and visit the new cool kids on your block |
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Tell them the story of the heart of trap house |
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Where the ghosts of dope boys still shed tears |
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How you tried to get the city to tear down this nightmare for the last three years |
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Won't you tell them how, the deferred dreams of high school hopes |
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Would sit on its porch waiting |
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To snatch the soul from whoever walked by |
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Still looking for a way out this hood |
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The same hood that holds the street corner |
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The same corner your cousin died on |
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They repaved it and renamed it something expensive |
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Something you can barely afford to stand on this block |
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Don't feel like it used to |
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Now the folks next door call cops on you when your friends roll through |
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It's strange how things don' changed around you |
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Hey, they call this progress baby |
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When they come for you |
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They will say it's for the best |
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To clean up the mess |
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They will call it restoration |
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Wanna free you from the mortgage or that rent |
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And give you a new destination |
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They sellin' you false emancipation |
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Wanna reshape your school and call it reeducation |
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Now add a new word to your vocabulary young blood |
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It's called gentrification |
