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Rating: There are and have been, among all musical genres, avalanches of politically- and socially-themed albums filled with rhetoric. The kind that at first glance seem to be painted a fiery red (or pitch black) but when seen in light reveal the old-issue Benjamin Franklin green reflections. And then there's Let's Get Free by Dead Prez, an album impossible to find incoherent, considering the creators who birthed it in 2000: M1 and stic.man, a duo of radical activist MCs, Afrocentrists, and moderately racist.
But it's only right for the songs, or rather the lyrics, to frame the seriousness of the matter. Because it's such a compact and identity-driven work that it's impossible to find double meanings in rhymes that explain themselves. They throw them in your face without mincing words. If you're white, don't think of turning it into a controversy because these are not topics dedicated to you. If you're white and part of the Establishment, don't think of turning it into a controversy because these are topics against you.
" they schools can't teach us shit
my people need freedom, we tryin to get all we can get
all my high school teachers can suck my dick
tellin me white man lies straight bullshit "
They make it immediately clear who they are ("I Am a African"), what they want ("We want Freedom") and the issues that do not work ("They Schools", "Police State", "Animal in Man"). To dispel any doubt about their position within the music world (the track is simply titled "Hip Hop"), they spit more rhymes about how "real life is something more important than all these fake records, where the poor become billionaires and my woman treated badly" and further "if you are a fighter who fires up the crowds, or just someone who wants to get high and nothing more, don't be afraid to say it in your records. But if you are a liar, with a heated cock [...], know that I'll catch you when I listen to your record". Inexorably concluding with "I'm fed up with this rap and RnB scene made of fake criminals occupying the radio all day long. Always the same skits in the videos: it's a monotonous material. But you don't hear me, do you?".
All this is accompanied by lean beats built on percussive rhythms. The productions are all theirs, assisted by Lord Jamar (of Brand Nubian, and the circle closes) plus Kayne W in one song.
No frills or embellishments. No comedic or ironic finds. The album is dead serious from start to finish. And there is no doubt, it could not be otherwise.
" nigga the red is for the blood in my arm
the black is for the gun in my palm
and the green is for the tram that grows natural
like locks on africans
holdin the smoke from the herb in my abdomen "
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
45 The Pistol (04:25)
We ain't tryin to hear shit for what? (Cash money)
We whole world operating off a (Cash money)
To all my niggas with a whole lotta (Cash money)
Watch yo' back money
You couldn't neva understand how my mind tick
I'm on some old school crime shit
When niggas sold two's to keep the dimes lit
Ain't no rules when these iron shots are stoned dun
This heat burn through your flesh, stright to the bones
I reach for the buddha cess and zone
I probably have a future of stress, stay depressed and be alone
But as far as the present time its on
I represent mine til I return to the S and said I'm dead and gone
Nobody wanna be broke and you neither
Put me on the co'na, watch me catch a quick case of cream fever
If you be poppin shit my niggas won't believe ya
Probably punch you in the face and take ya wallet when we see ya
But son it gets deeper
I'm runnin with a click thats bein' hunted by the grim reaper
To all my peoples in the man keeper
Let'cha situation be a teacher
Ain't nothin like a education
When I was locked down I learned about patience and dedication
And not to say shit, unless you need a motherfuckin face lift
And as a youth I was a outcast
Runnin around with pellot guns playin war but now it's all about cash
Chorus:
I'm caught up, caught up in a mix of shit
And I ain't tryin to hear shit til my got cash to get
Blast you with the pistol
If I have to, in my mind its all about cash in a fistfull
I'm caught up in a mix of shit
And I ain't tryin to hear shit til my got cash to get
Splash you with the pistol
If I have to, in my mind its all about cash in a fistfull
Up late night and upset, and fed up
Niggas comin up wet, I'm dead up
Fuck tryin to your head up
And when it go down, word bond we gotta get up
Too many locked down upstate, son its a set up
My life has sped up, many years I'm straight up
Plenty bears for who ain't here and those who ate up
Test and get sprayed up in the club
We couldn't run it so we take the blade up in the booth
Since we couldn't shoot
We heat it up, losin the shirt, showin the bare chest
I'm blessed, puffin the skunk make me care less
The best that you can do is duck my fuckin crew
If the slugs don't get'cha, lord J'll jig ya
Actin artificial you'll get burnt my the pistol
Before its done, even my guns'll turn to missles
Don't have to blow the whistle on you
'Cuz everybody knows you
Watch yourself around borderline pyschos
Who know my people gotta hold a mint
Or they ain't worth a cent
How can you represent, if you can't pay the rent
And leave a dent in my life time, I'm caught up in trife crime
In fights you neva know what you might find
We stand firm meanwhile cuz niggas that seem wild
Be buckin blanks, if they were men they wouldn't fuck with pranks
I leave them niggas alone and stay home
Unitl it cool down as they remember how my tool sound
Chorus
We ain't tryin to hear shit for what? (Cash money)
We whole world operating off a (Cash money)
To all my niggas with a whole lotta (Cash money)
Watch yo' back money
Yeah, we up on what we dealing with
We ain't no criminals
We got the right to have gats
As long as the army, navy, air force, marines got gats
We gon' hold heat, knamsayin?
'Cuz our army gotta represent for us
Word up
Aiyyo, Maintain (Yeah)
Set that shit son
Forever keeping my shit cocked for drama
Stainless steal, shit is for real
The way these rats is known to squeal, makin' sour deals
Thugs up in to mix with these drugs, caught up in the humble
Bricks and paper by the bundle how the Bronx humble
??? devils get deaded, never regret it, only known to set it
Stealin existence obviuosly ya jetted
Speak the desest, I see the pyramid and eagle
Back of the dollar bill, ill decitful, we consider leathal
God fallin, niggas be ballin, guzzlin alcoholics
Two drinks, too many is like whitey infulltrating your fortress
This is on, we 'bout to form, best prepare for the storm
Ya'll funny niggas quick to ring the alarm
Bomb fell, now a nation is gel
We had to dwell for four hundred or more
The Lord had the right just livin poor
Resurrectin the true and livin back the power
Devils getiin devoured, niggas heard the god holla
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