I might be wrong, might be guilty
You might be right this time
You tried to warn me, this war that would kill me
I sacrificed
Die to the world, I took the money
So for my life
Can't sleep at night, you shoulda seen the crib though
So fucking nice

Speaking on the unjust way the justice system
Is justifying crimes against our kind
Justice is supposed to be blind
But continue to cross color lines
Hands up, don't shoot, shot
Stand your ground?
Blacks don't own no ground to stand on
So we stand on our words
Black and hooded is the official probable cause
For cops to keep weapons drawn
I can't breathe through the choke-holds and gun smoke
These realities drift and appear to inform black boys and men
Of the dangers outside their doors
Slain in society by sworn protectors
Rejected by their peers, grand juries full of friends
No charges brought against them
They kill and arrest us, transgress and oppress us, damn, cuz

It don't even matter, you can start from the beginning

We might be wrong, might be guilty
We might be right this time
You tried to warn me, this war that would kill me
I sacrificed
Die to the world, I took the money
So for my life
Can't sleep at night, you shoulda seen the crib though
So fucking nice

We might be wrong, might be guilty
We might be right this time
You tried to warn me, this war that would kill me
I sacrificed
Die to the world, I took the money
So for my life
Can't sleep at night, you shoulda seen the crib though
So fucking nice

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Ernest Dion Wilson, James Edward Fauntleroy Ii, Steve Wyreman, Vincent Staples