Testo Let Me Out - Afroman
Testo della canzone Let Me Out (Afroman), tratta dall'album Sell Your Dope
Hey Afroman flow one time
Yo man, do that shit
I don't wanna sell yay
Get my door kicked in by the KKK
Shoulda said the police
Lookin' for the quarter piece inside my Caprice
From the traps of the ghetto I try to escape
Record my music on a CD or a rap tape
I make it then take it to the mom and poppa store
For a proper cash flow
But the mom and poppa store don't want no more
Rappers on consignment
Find another alignment, come back another climate
People don't even know who you is
You need a name in the music biz
Your album for one has no promotion
Your elbows and kneecaps have no lotion
And ashy, your music is trashy
I'll pass inside a class meet
Out the door is where they cast me (where?)
Straight into the street (where you goin'?)
Now I'm on my way to swap meet (say what?)
Tryna make a mill without a record deal
Sellin' tapes out the back of my Coupe de Ville
Hustlin' on the street is hard
In a fight with the white security guard
Talkin' 'bout no solicitin', no publicity
And I tried to talk to him but nope, he not listenin'
Punk ass, flunk ass, can't slam dunk ass
Skunk ass, monk ass, sufferin' sucker's hash
Now I'm seein' a black guard workin' for a Korean
Tellin' me I can't be in the places that I be in
You can spend your money here, you can't make no money here
You better get outta here, ya hear, hear?
Did I make myself clear?
I go and drink a beer 'til I'm pissy
And my belly get big as Missy Elliot
I'm so depressed, plus over stressed
Wanna rap so hard I'm obsessed
Sometimes I wanna cock my heat
Make them punks play my song on the beat
Let me out, let me out
Let me show the whole world what I'm all about
Let me out, let me out
Let me rap 'til the party people scream and shout
Let me out, let me out
Let me show the whole world the best in me
Let me out, let me out
Let me take control of my destiny
Depressed, determined, smokin' sherm in
Black, German, monster, Herman
Sellin' crack, money stacked
Down for a murder, black, like Roberta Flack
Get dressed up, get my tapes pressed up
'Cause the music industry is messed up
Baby, I throw a pity party as I sip Bacardi
Sell my own rap tapes, I don't need nobody
I'm a Daytona dippin', Colt 45 sippin'
It's the year 2000 and my jerry curl still drippin'
It might sound strange in my rhyme
But I'm from the West Coast
I can't change with the hands of time
What I am is what I am
If you don't like what I am, I don't give a damn
Black Panther's my title, Don King is my idol
I'm havin' thoughts that's suicidal
Young rival, I don't care about fashion
Just Cadillac mashin', bags to put my grass in
Bank to put my cash in
I don't wear FUBU like you do
'Cause FUBU is boo boo
I pull my gat and make you sick, boo boo, sick
You talk too much shit, that's why you got hit
Walkin' home with your dome split
While I sit, sell yay, every day
Bumpin' NWA
Cruisin' down the street in my six, Afrom
Punk niggas get gaffled, bitch
I wanna kill every cop I meet
I wanna burn down the Slauson Swap Meet
I'm talkin' smack, but you ain't hearin'
Get the gat, I gotta start racketeering
Plus clearin' all the Koreans and all the Europeans
The ones makin' money off of black human beings
Oh, give it up, give it up
It's time for the black folks to live it up
Hey, burn it down, burn it down
Run the white cops outta town, mothafucka
So tell Andy Griffith and his punk aunt Bee
Run from the black vigilante, it can't be
A dictatorship ran by the Ku Klux Klan
Feel the wrath of the Afroman
Let me out, let me out
Let me show these mothafuckas what I'm all about
Let me out, let me out
Fuck the sheriff in the ass 'til he scream and shout
Let me out, let me out
Let me show the whole world the best in me
Let me out, let me out
Let me take control of my destiny
I can do it, I can make it
If you don't give it to me, baby, I'ma take it
Fuck the music industry, fuck the music biz
I make my own rap tape and tell it like it is
Revolution, revolution
Revolution, that's the solution
I made the rap tape, I made the CD
Fuck the corporate world, give the money to me, bitch
Nobody understand Afroman
Fuck the police and the Ku Klux Klan
I'm a hungry hustler, Eastside young buster
Make a mill without a record deal
If tapes don't sell, the rocks will
Ya jive turkey
Credits
Writer(s): Joseph Foreman
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