"Hate the Game" Fine Art Reproduction
$
45.00
Printed on Epson Photo Quality paper. Archival Ink.
Suitable for framing.
Image size, 9.25 in. x 18.75 in.
Background colors may vary slightly from computer image.
Suitable for framing.
Image size, 9.25 in. x 18.75 in.
Background colors may vary slightly from computer image.
Hate the Game
Boys claimin’ they’re men, fast track to the grave
Thinkin’ they’re players, all the time bein’ played
Babies have babies, mamas pass blame
Sisters and daughters don’t know their real name
Rappers proclaim, we just showin’ what’s real
Children then copy till the day that they’re killed
A system designed to imprison our youth
Embellishing lies, disguising the truth
Sisters disrobing on video screens
Renouncing their rights as African queens
Brothers gone wild with lascivious acts
Minds chained to slavery, that’s just the facts
I’m not hatin’ the players, I’m hatin’ the game
Dollars and cents got a lock on their brains
Hi tech plantations raping our village
Corporate execs continue to pillage
Movies corrupting with negative themes
Drugs, sex and crime, a genocidal scheme
Influencing children, repeating the hooks
Keeping them down, re-writing the books
Plantations ain’t changed in four hundred years
Still whippin’ and beatin’ slaves into fear
Fear of lovin’ yourself, men, women and kids
Fear of planning a future, educatin’ your peers
Fear of seein’ the truth, fear of havin’ respect
Fear of claiming a culture of wealth, not neglect
Thugs grinnin’ and smilin’ with chains ‘round their neck
Gold ‘stead of iron has the same slave effect
House negroes happy they don’t have to go
Massa he love us, let us sell all his dope
We better off now, we got bling, we got flash
Fat pockets with cash and the massa just laughs
The dogs in the yard used to keep us at bay
Now we’re callin’ our brothers by the same canine name
The underground railroad once used to escape
Gotta be resurrected to end this slave rape
Young poets and writers, rappers too
Gotta build new tracks preparing our youth
‘Stead of hatin’ on players who’re tryin’ to stand tall
Pick up the challenge, pick up the ball
Read ‘tween the lines, ‘cause that’s where truth lies
Break out of the box, start savin’ lives
Don’t be a slave with a house, car and boat
Grinning and shuffling, refusing to vote
I’m not hatin’ the players, I’m hatin’ the game
Dollars and cents padlocking their brains
Ancestors suffered, robbed of their name
Raped of their heritage; think this is a game?
Strung up and hung from the tallest tree
Whipped and tortured in their fight to be free
All this abuse to liberate you
Give you a chance to start out anew
To resurrect families, fulfilling your dreams
With culture and values, silencing screams
Erasing the nightmare of horrendous attacks
Bringing back life with courageous acts
Become heroes and heroines to ones you hold dear
Leave legacies of love, not those of fear
Copyright © 2005 by F. Geoffrey Johnson All rights reserved
Boys claimin’ they’re men, fast track to the grave
Thinkin’ they’re players, all the time bein’ played
Babies have babies, mamas pass blame
Sisters and daughters don’t know their real name
Rappers proclaim, we just showin’ what’s real
Children then copy till the day that they’re killed
A system designed to imprison our youth
Embellishing lies, disguising the truth
Sisters disrobing on video screens
Renouncing their rights as African queens
Brothers gone wild with lascivious acts
Minds chained to slavery, that’s just the facts
I’m not hatin’ the players, I’m hatin’ the game
Dollars and cents got a lock on their brains
Hi tech plantations raping our village
Corporate execs continue to pillage
Movies corrupting with negative themes
Drugs, sex and crime, a genocidal scheme
Influencing children, repeating the hooks
Keeping them down, re-writing the books
Plantations ain’t changed in four hundred years
Still whippin’ and beatin’ slaves into fear
Fear of lovin’ yourself, men, women and kids
Fear of planning a future, educatin’ your peers
Fear of seein’ the truth, fear of havin’ respect
Fear of claiming a culture of wealth, not neglect
Thugs grinnin’ and smilin’ with chains ‘round their neck
Gold ‘stead of iron has the same slave effect
House negroes happy they don’t have to go
Massa he love us, let us sell all his dope
We better off now, we got bling, we got flash
Fat pockets with cash and the massa just laughs
The dogs in the yard used to keep us at bay
Now we’re callin’ our brothers by the same canine name
The underground railroad once used to escape
Gotta be resurrected to end this slave rape
Young poets and writers, rappers too
Gotta build new tracks preparing our youth
‘Stead of hatin’ on players who’re tryin’ to stand tall
Pick up the challenge, pick up the ball
Read ‘tween the lines, ‘cause that’s where truth lies
Break out of the box, start savin’ lives
Don’t be a slave with a house, car and boat
Grinning and shuffling, refusing to vote
I’m not hatin’ the players, I’m hatin’ the game
Dollars and cents padlocking their brains
Ancestors suffered, robbed of their name
Raped of their heritage; think this is a game?
Strung up and hung from the tallest tree
Whipped and tortured in their fight to be free
All this abuse to liberate you
Give you a chance to start out anew
To resurrect families, fulfilling your dreams
With culture and values, silencing screams
Erasing the nightmare of horrendous attacks
Bringing back life with courageous acts
Become heroes and heroines to ones you hold dear
Leave legacies of love, not those of fear
Copyright © 2005 by F. Geoffrey Johnson All rights reserved
