Who Are You (feat. David Ranier)

Hudson

Heard you got your master's, did college up
Never looked back, now that's what's happening
And it's good to see you made it out the hood
With a degree, a true man with passion
Now you could enter the so-called "White Man's Society" and go right past them
Looking in the Wall Street Journal for your face, but it's always absent

There he go, that's him eating flan and ambrosia
Watch on his arm, golden, laughin'
Try to get his attention
But he's flinching, guess my grimy clothes threw him off, so I mention
We were neighbors sometime ago
He was kinda cold, in this restaurant
Full of his kind and more
He sighed, tried to look surprised, I know
His side of the city where he resides
So, I had to go

I heard him laugh hard at some sad black jokes
Hate so-called "intellectuals"
No balls, he suggests we vote
He stands all proud, speaking to correct his folks
He wants to lecture folks
'Cause his professional, and he suggests that we don't sell dope
And I guess it's true, but who the fuck are you?

Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?
Tryna tell me who I am
Who are you, tryna tell me what I'm not?
Tryna tell me what I'm not
Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?
Tryna box me in, tryna define who I am

I'm Idi Amin, Marcus Garvey, H. Rap Brown
I'm Muhammad Ali, I'm Reginald Lewis
George Washington Carver, I'm Nas with incredible music
Let's do it, thinking of a master plan
Sipping on disaster, smoking on gangster
Watching niggas argue, chillin' on my barstool
With my Hell Up in Harlem hat in hand

With a girl named Pat, she's more than a waitress to order your drink with
She divorced a banker and bought the bar
She got an automobile, she gives an order to kill
You get caught and robbed
We could see your walk is off, you could lose your rhythm
When you outta the gutter for a while
You easily go to soft from hard

Now we all about hustlers, number runners
Hoes and sharks, and we all know the code of the block
And you're talking some gibberish, anti-nigga shit
'Cause you marched back with Rosa Parks
Brother don't start, go build your Noah's Ark
You could float to the end of the world
And pretend what you're not, but I know what you are

While I roll in my car, and I'm spending my knot
While my enemies plot, you ain't out of the shot
Matter of fact, you're an easier target
And I respect everything you accomplished
But I hope I never get old and talk that nonsense
So who the fuck are you?

Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?
Tryna tell me who I am
Who are you, tryna tell me what I'm not?
Tryna tell me what I'm not
Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?
Tryna box me in, tryna define who I am

She Queen of Nzinga
Winnie Mandela, Ida B. Wells
Why can't you tell?
Why can't you tell?