Put down your axe

Put down your hoe or your pik

My throat's parched and frankly I am sick

And tired of having my back lashed like I don't Matter

Don't shush me

I'm serious this ain't no empty chatter

In the dead of the night me and my brothers plan ta

Carry out schemes based on dreams of killing Massa

While he's dead asleep

In the bedroom next to Nana

Go in, slit his throat and disappear in the savanna

I hear the dogs barking in the distance as we scatter

And then the bullets flying there's no telling where they landing

Wake up!

This ain't 1860

You're not somebody's chattel get with me

Coz back the day we was slaves whips and chains

And nowadays all we pursue is whips and chains

Word to Killa Cam

Let me talk some sense in your brain

Either

We are advanced or ain't shit changed

Ever since you can remember

There's always something they try to sell ya

To make you feel that you ain't no failure

Lifestyle, clothing brands

Make you legit

In your mind

In they mind you still ain't shit

We used scrape they fields

Using rakes and piks

Now we can't go out to dinner without taking a pic

Just ta

Make you forget

You ain't rich and dying with less

Our countries owned by IMF

And World Bank leaders

They shank us and they beat us with conditions Have our own businesses folding like a fetus

But you'd never tell

By how nicely that they treat us

They're feedin us so they can eat us

Now eat up