A Bird in the Hand Songtext
von Ice Cube
A Bird in the Hand Songtext
Say, look at this
I′ve been cleaning out my nest, and I found an old book of my poetry
Fresh out of school 'cause I was a high school grad
Gots to get a job ′cause I was a high school dad
Wish I got paid by rappin' to the nation
But that's not likely, so here′s my application
Pass it to the man at AT&T
′Cause when I was in school I got the A.E.E
But there's no SC for this youngsta
I didn′t have no money, so now I gotta punch the
Clock, gotta slave, and be half a man
But whitey says, "There's no room for the African"
Always knew that I would clock G′s
But welcome to McDonald's, "May I take your order, please?"
Gotta serve ya food that might give you cancer
′Cause my son doesn't take no for an answer
Now I pay taxes, that you never give me back
What about diapers, bottles, and Similac?
Do I have to sell me a whole lotta crack
For decent shelter and clothes on my back?
Or should I just wait for help from Bush?
Or Jesse Jackson, and Operation PUSH?
If you ask me the whole thing needs a douche
A Massengill, what the hell, crack will sell in the neighborhood
To the corner house bitches
Miss Parker, little Joe, and Todd Bridges
Or anybody that he know
So I copped me a bird, better known as a kilo
Now everybody know I went from po'
To a nigga that got dough
So now you put the feds against me
′Cause I couldn′t follow the plan of the presidency
I never get love again
But blacks are too fuckin' broke to be Republican
Now I remember, I used to be cool
′Til I stopped fillin' out my W-2
Now senators are gettin′ high
And your plan against the ghetto backfired
So now you got a pep talk
But sorry, this is our only room to walk
'Cause we don′t want a drug push
But a bird in the hand is worth more than a Bush
Tell the politicians, the hustlers
"Live and let live" (yeah)
Tell the politicians, the hustlers
"Live and let live" (yeah)
I′ve been cleaning out my nest, and I found an old book of my poetry
Fresh out of school 'cause I was a high school grad
Gots to get a job ′cause I was a high school dad
Wish I got paid by rappin' to the nation
But that's not likely, so here′s my application
Pass it to the man at AT&T
′Cause when I was in school I got the A.E.E
But there's no SC for this youngsta
I didn′t have no money, so now I gotta punch the
Clock, gotta slave, and be half a man
But whitey says, "There's no room for the African"
Always knew that I would clock G′s
But welcome to McDonald's, "May I take your order, please?"
Gotta serve ya food that might give you cancer
′Cause my son doesn't take no for an answer
Now I pay taxes, that you never give me back
What about diapers, bottles, and Similac?
Do I have to sell me a whole lotta crack
For decent shelter and clothes on my back?
Or should I just wait for help from Bush?
Or Jesse Jackson, and Operation PUSH?
If you ask me the whole thing needs a douche
A Massengill, what the hell, crack will sell in the neighborhood
To the corner house bitches
Miss Parker, little Joe, and Todd Bridges
Or anybody that he know
So I copped me a bird, better known as a kilo
Now everybody know I went from po'
To a nigga that got dough
So now you put the feds against me
′Cause I couldn′t follow the plan of the presidency
I never get love again
But blacks are too fuckin' broke to be Republican
Now I remember, I used to be cool
′Til I stopped fillin' out my W-2
Now senators are gettin′ high
And your plan against the ghetto backfired
So now you got a pep talk
But sorry, this is our only room to walk
'Cause we don′t want a drug push
But a bird in the hand is worth more than a Bush
Tell the politicians, the hustlers
"Live and let live" (yeah)
Tell the politicians, the hustlers
"Live and let live" (yeah)
Writer(s): O'shea Jackson, George Clinton Jr., Ronald Dunbar, Garry Marshall Shider, William Earl Collins, Mark S. Jordan, Donnie Ray Sterling Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com