原文歌词
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Crime's often written by a white hand. Race is a room
that we all rent. Color is money that we all spend.
And we all die and we all bend.
Who's the criminal? We've got a cancer. It's terminal
and there is no chance of taking every black soul for a raper,
making up statistics and put it in the paper. This ain't no 1944.
Then you were plenty, now you are more. Who are you to fuck
with this race. You act as if you fuckin' own this place.
Don't judge no one by looking in his nose, but you do and your case
is closed. There is a law who says, I quote:"I killed people by the
things I wrote."
I killed people by the things I wrote. I'm the pen on which you vote.
Pink or brown: I write in both. I killed people by the things I wrote.
Who's the criminal behind the writer? Who's the coward and the fighter?
Put it all back in the news and let me decide which writer I choose.
I can read it clearly, in reverse. I just don't know who they outta kill
first. This ain't no 1944, so what the fuck are you screaming for?
Mister Whitey be a prayer and track down that major. There is a law who
says, I quote:"I killed people by the things i wrote."
I killed people by the things I wrote. I'm the pen on which you vote.
Pink or brown: I write in both. I killed people by the things I wrote.
Crime's often written by a white hand. Race is a room
that we all rent. Color is money that we all spend.
And we all die and we all bend. Crime's often written by a black hand.
Somewhere is the place where we all went. Color is nothing but an accent.
nd we all die and we all bend.
I killed people by the things I wrote. I'm the pen on which you vote.
Pink or brown: I write in both. I killed people by the things I wrote.
Who's the criminal? Who's the criminal? Who's the criminal?
