Who Are You lyrics - Nas (feat. David Ranier)

Hudson

Heard you got your master's

Did college up, never looked back, now that's what's happening

And it's good to see you made it out the hood

With a degree, a true man with passion

Now you could enter the so-called "White Man's Society"

And go right past 'em

Looking in the Wall Street Journal for your face

But it's always absent

There he go, that's him

Eating flan and ambrosia, watch on his arm, golden, laughin'

Try to get his attention, but he's flinching

Guess my grimy clothes threw him off, so I mention

We were neighbors some time ago

He was kinda cold, in this restaurant, full of his kind and more

He sighed, tried to look surprised, I know

His side of the city where he resides, so

I had to go, I heard him laugh hard at some sad black jokes

Hate so-called "intellectuals"

No balls, he suggests we vote

He stand all proud, speaking to correct his folks

He want to lecture folks 'cause he professional

And he suggest that we don't sell dope

And I guess it's true, but who the fuck are you?

Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?

Tryna tell me who I am?

Who are you, tryna tell me what I'm not?

Tryna tell me what I'm not

Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?

Tryna box me in, tryna find who I am

I'm Idi Amin, I'm Marcus Garvey

H. Rap Brown, I'm Muhammad Ali

I'm Reginald Lewis, George Washington Carver

I'm Nas with incredible music, let's do it

Thinking of a master plan

Sipping on disaster, smoking on gangster

Watching niggas argue, chillin' on my bar-stool

With my Hell Up in Harlem hat in hand

With a girl named Pat

She more than a waitress to order your drink with

She divorced a banker and bought the bar

She got an automobile, she give an order to kill

You get caught and robbed, we could see your walk is off

You could lose your rhythm when you outta the gutter for a while

You easily go to soft from hard

Now we all about hustlers, number runners, hoes and sharks

And we all know the code of the block

And you talking some gibberish, anti-nigga shit

'Cause you marched back with Rosa Parks?

Brother, don't start, go build your Noah's Ark

You could float to the end of the world, and pretend what you not

But I know what you are

While I roll in my car, and I'm spending my knot

While my enemies plot, you ain't out of the shot

Matter of fact, you're an easier target

And I respect everything you accomplished

But I hope I never get old and talk that nonsense

So who the fuck are you?

Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?

Tryna tell me who I am?

Who are you, tryna tell me what I'm not?

Tryna tell me what I'm not

Who are you, tryna tell me who I am?

Tryna box me in, tryna find who I am

She Queen of Nzinga

Winnie Mandela, Ida B. Wells

Why can't you tell?

Why can't you tell?