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Artist: The Coup f/ T-Kash
Album:  Party Music
Song:   Pork and Beef
Typed by:

Coup, yeah
It's all good man, we off in the Oakland Hills
Dodging em' one time, check it out

[Chorus: repeat 2X]
If you got beef with C-O-P's
Throw a Molotov at the P-I-G's
Cause they be harassing you and me
Ya gotta understand we still not free

Check it out
Don't trust the police, no justice no peace
They got me, face down in the middle of the street
Pistol whip me with the heat, chicken shits sizzling
Trying to serve me the all-you-can eat murder beef
I'm a young, black, heterosexual male
Don't drink drank, don't smoke, don't sell
That's the real reason why they want me up in jail
They want me to fail, I resist and rebel
See I, give a fuck about the C-O-P's
P-I-G's I wonder if I can shake em' like a P-I-T
Cause they wanna see me D-I-E
Tommy Kash from the Mob, I'm a pre-O.G.
Dark Soviet socialist, vicious venomous vocalist
Chrome fo'-fo' totin, holdin it down for Oakland
Folks do be smokin and shit we do what we holdin
Soldiers don't notice they get demoted
then throw a Molotov, music


[* Pam the Funkstress scratching *]

This is for them ladies with them empty plates
For that raised rent rate you didn't calculate
If you ever in yo' life been a ward of the state
On the corner with cake
If they send the undercover and you took the bait, huh
Next time I see em' with no hesitation
I'm peelin off like stolen registration
And leave a lot of smoke, see I'm that sort of folk
That they been huntin since my mama's fuckin water broke
Cause they the henchmen nah they the lynchpin
Between the rich and puffs of weed known to trench them
Cause they dispense with the dollars and cents
So when you stand go get candles, flowers, and incense
Behind steel gates with the fifty-cent-a-hour bill rates
Up in Quentin making microchips for Bill Gates
Pelican Bay, t-shirts for the workout
Police station where the slave catchers lurk out
Listen to the thunder, I'm no more taking under routes
We'll synchronize and give 'em shit to wonder bout
The D.A. is filthy, yell not guilty
We need control of the cash and the realty
And get rid of all the motherfuckin parasites
More than weed burn at 420 Fahrenheit
Shaking in they boots when we start to bust
They ain't scared of rap music, they scared of us